The beginning of the end of childhood
Finish Yr 11 at JB Petit; grateful to
be moving on; made some good friends but overall an alienating 2
years. Not used to girls only schools, always been in co-ed and this is
my tenth school. Still miss Zambia - I long for my colour-blind heterochromatic surroundings
and school, my friends, my dog who is dead but so alive to me; miss
riding along everywhere on my bicycle; stealing guavas; the unbelievable
sunsets.....I realise that I have not found my roots, them that I
returned to India for. I feel a stranger here and so very lonely. I
don't quite understand this society although I have picked up the local
languages with ease and changed my accent to fit in and put a stop to
the teasing. "Miss Yankee" some had called me. Ignoramuses (or is it
ignorami?), couldn't differentiate between an English sounding and a
north American accent. Still, Bombay is the city of my birth. I am
hopeful that I will eventually feel I belong.
The Duke of Edinburgh
There is some Duke of Edinburgh social service thing on
at a local boys school. My friends S and V are going to "help out" and
think it's a good idea for me to join them. I am unsure, the last time
we interacted with this school (ISCE exams), I ended up being a Cupidoid
Hermes - taking lovelorn messages back and forth between smitten
JBPites and Campion dwellers, being everyone's "sister" or confidante
(what is it with these boys and this stupid rakhi brother business?
can't we just be friends? I have two brothers, I don't need more and I
can climb a tree and use a catapult better than most boys). I also
think that my friends are less interested in the social service angle
and more interested in getting to know the boys. If I go along, I'll be
the opposite (since all boys are inevitably boring and can't string an
intelligent sentence together) and in any case my crippling shyness will
take over as it usually does and I'll run away from strangers.
In the end, I go. I know the Blind School that this camp is for, so I
may know some people. I'm nervous but I go. I am not worried about
falling in love or someone falling in love with me - confidantes are
exempt from this process, my job is to facilitate not participate.
I enjoy being at the camp. It's a lot of fun and I have
discovered that I have empathy with disabled people. I do not see them
as less fortunate, just different. And brave. On the second day I feel a
little awkward, there's a boy who's been staring at me a lot and I
don't know why but he unsettles me. We went to the planetarium with the
blind boys and I was reading "to kill a mocking bird" while we waited
on the steps and I turned to find him reading over my shoulder. I got up
and walked away and he looked sad but I was frightened by my being
unawere of his proximity.
The last day of the camp. We are all packing up. One of
the blind boys hands me a letter he has written me, as he does so he
tells me he will never forget me. I am moved, I will never forget his
courage and fortitude. I open the letter, he has written just this:
"रही गुलशन तो फूल खिलेंगे, रही ज़िन्दगी तो फिर मिलेंगे. मैं तुम्हे हमेशा
प्यार करूंगा और कभी नहीं भूलूंगा "
S & V tell me there is a Social that evening and they are excited
and hope someone will "ask" them. They hang around twittering and
giggling, I find it demeaning and am thankful I not only have no
expectations but no interest. That boy is still staring at me and a
part of me wants to confront him. I do not. V is very keen on someone
who she tells me is quite a catch - he sings, he dances, he acts, oh he
is so charming and so many girls are in love with him. She says one of
the other boys Cyrus or Sirus, who is a friend of ours is "on to it".
This I am told means that he will talk to the 'catch' and get him to ask
V to the Social. I am not interested in these machinations and decide
to go home. As I start walking away, a stranger walks up to me and asks
if I'll go to the Social with him. I am puzzled and he tells me his name is Kiran Narkar and reminds
me that we met at the traffic park session the day before. He smiles
very sweetly but what I notice is that he has warm brown eyes. Then with a jolt
realise he is the 'catch'. My immediate instinct is to politely refuse,
but my friends are standing a little way behind him and signalling
madly to me. I tell him I'm not sure and I'll think about it; and walk
towards my friends. They grab me and ask for details - there is not
much to tell but I tell them. They shriek and say I must accept. I say
I cannot because a) V is interested in him b) he has not asked
her c) my loyalty is to her so d) I must refuse so she can accept once
Cyrus does his bit. Cyrus joins us and tells us it's no use, Kiran is
quite set on taking me. We all agree that we cannot see why. I am upset
and confused because this sudden attention, this sudden
unaccustomed attention is frightening to the facilitator who never saw
herself participating. I want to flee, but some small courageous
part of me wants to accept, not in order to acquire a boyfriend, but to
have a pleasant time and in the hope that perhaps I can
overcome my shyness and satisfy my love of dancing. Cyrus, V & S
come up with a plan - I am to accept Kiran's invitation; Cyrus will
partner V; there will be some skilfull partner swapping on the dance
floor so that V & Kiran end up together. And we can all live happily
ever after. I agree, and tell Kiran I will go with him. But already
there is a disquiet in my mind - I don't know what or why - and as I
leave the school building I notice the staring boy looking at me.
At the Social.
I am not able to relax. A strange
conflict assails me - I want Cyrus to hurry up with the swap but at the
same time I find I enjoy being with Kiran. I want to tell him the truth
about why I accepted his invitation. It feels like it's time to end the charade, but V's face keeps bobbing into view and I stay silent. Cyrus is not
successful in his swapping attempts, so at some point I tell Kiran I am tired and
need to rest. V says she'd love a dance so Kiran obliges. The goal
having been achieved, I am left with a throbbing headache. I walk out
of the dance hall to some tables outside. There is a cool breeze and I
choose a table furthest away from the hall. The staring boy is at the
next table (yes, still staring, has been all evening) and on an impulse I
ask him his name. "Andrew Braganza" he says. "Well Andrew Braganza" I
say, "stop staring at me, I am not a freak and I do not have a wart on
my face". "No" he says, "you're not ugly. You're very beautiful". He
gets up and walks away and I am stunned. It is the first time a boy has
ever told me this. I have heard it many times before - from adult
lecherous men. This is different, but I am nevertheless very
uncomfortable.
Cyrus gets me a coke and joins me at the
outside table. We make small polite conversation, till he confesses
he has a crush on someone and wants to talk it over with me. I am
immediately at ease, this is a role I understand and perform well.
Sometime during the next ten minutes, we are joined by V and Kiran.
Neither looks happy. Kiran asks me back onto the dance floor; I
agree and he takes me by my hand. No electric shock passes, there is
no thunder and lightning, but I am inexplicably happy. As we enter
the hall, he whispers in my ear, "don't try and get rid of me".
I am thrilled at this, and guilty for feeling so. I don't recall the
rest of the evening, except that periodically I see Andrew standing in the
doorway. S, V and I leave at 11 pm; Kiran tries to dissuade me but I
am worried that my family will be upset at my stretching the curfew.
As I get into the car, Kiran suddenly grabs my hand and writes something
on it. He says something in my ear but I cannot catch it - a
combination of the surrounding noise and my pounding heart and racing
mind. He smiles and says "something something something
Kim". I smile back and nod but have no idea who Kim is.
In the car, everyone chatters excitedly - the post-mortem is in full
flight. I am silent, drowning in a mixture of powerful and opposite
emotions - anxious at being late getting home, a still heightened
awareness of something momentous having happened, and a churning I don't
recognise but it is connected to Kiran. I haven't read what he's written
on my hand, it is private and I don't want my friends to be part of this -
I need to keep this to myself. However I am exhausted when I get home and
I forget about the message. I wash my face and hands, brush my teeth
and go to bed. As I drift off to sleep I realise I have washed away
the message - there are some inky remnants on my hand, but I cannot make
sense of it. Perhaps he was telling me about Kim; I assume she is
his girlfriend.
Oliver Twist
The next day, Saturday. I get a phone
call in the afternoon. It is Kiran. He asks me why I did not
call him the night before. I tell him I did not know I was supposed
to, he says he had written his number on my hand. And he says he had
told me this and asked if he could call me Kim and I had nodded. I
tell him I had washed my hand and had no idea I was to call. He tells me
he had stayed up till the early hours of the morning waiting for my call
and had felt shattered when I did not. I apologise and he laughs and
says he is relieved that it was not due to my not wanting to call.
All through this conversation, I feel only partly there. I am consumed by
confusion, churning and the stirrings of some strange kind of longing and
an overwhelming sense that I have no control over what is happening.
He asks me if I will go to a film with him. I tell him I won't be
able to go alone with him and that I was going to take my 8 year old
cousin to see Oliver. He says he can bring his younger brother
along. It is our first date although I don't realise it. S
calls me and I tell her the news. She is excited and tells me it's a
good opportunity to promote V to Kiran. I agree and come back to
earth with a reluctance that is most unbecoming.
I don't remember much about the film. My cousin and his brother sit between us. On
the surface, I know I am making the right noises. The greater part
of me remains in a distracted state - everything is simultaneously very
loud and very distant. Kiran hands me a letter during the interval
and asks me to read it only after the film. We go our respective
ways with our respective siblings. Back home I read the letter in the
bathroom and feel faint and flushed. It is my first love letter and
through the mistiness that fills my eyes I think with a sudden and
sharp clarity, that this must be love. It is mid 1977 and another 16 year
old goes through this ancient rite of passage - this irreversible and
deliciously sweet sacred moment.
Post Oliver
I don't see Kiran for a month or so. The
day after the film, he leaves on a cruise to Singapore. It is a
terrible time for me. I have informed S about K and myself and she
has told V. Who refuses to speak to me, who feels betrayed. I
know I have done nothing wrong but she makes me feel otherwise.
I am busy with college admissions and am
grateful for the distraction. I sing Please Mr Postman everyday,
full of teenage lovesickness but the postman brings no news from Kiran. I
get into St Xaviers, along with S, V and other JBPites.
Kiran returns from Singapore, a letter from
him arrives on the same day. He calls me and we meet in secret at the
Metro cinema - watch a film called Mrigayaa. He gives me a gift - a bottle
of Topaz perfume. We are officially an item. I ask him why he
wants to call me Kim, he promises to tell me one day. He never does and I
am still waiting.
Kim's rise and fall
My parents move to Delhi and I move to a
ladies hostel near Chowpatty. Everyone there knows me as Kim.
Kiran is too late for admission to St X and he
goes to Wilson College. I feel distraught, he tells me he'll come to St X
the following year and we can be together then.
We meet as often as we can, which is not often at all. Even though I want to, I cannot be
open about him to my family, this is not a done thing. I remember the following: walks along
Marine Drive, meeting Pierre, and going to a small restaurant near the
flyover. I remember listening to him, to his pain, reading his
letters. He tells me his parents are divorced, how lonely he is, he
talks about his sister being his mother's favourite and how this hurts
him. I feel a fierce protectiveness towards him, I don't tell him
that my parents don't get along, that I dread their arguments; that I've
dealt with it by the strategy of an external denial and internal
sublimation being the better part of valour. He takes a couple of my
baby photographs, keeps them in his wallet. I love him so.
We do not last long as a couple, two months. Some
time in early August, there is an incident. We are waiting for
Pierre on the stairs in his building; discussing songs and music. There is
a song we both like and I tell him I often sing it in the shower. He asks
me to sing to him and I say I cannot, I am too shy to do so and I can't
sing as well as he does. He is annoyed at this and the evening does
not end well. There is no contact from him for over a week, then he
rings and asks to meet me. I am excited and optimistic, I chide
myself for my fears about losing him. It is a drizzly, windy
day. I wear a pale blue saree, my hostel friends tell me I look very
nice in it and am sure to dazzle K. We meet at the bus stop and his
face looks closed off. He tells me it's over, he is very sorry but
he doesn't care for me anymore. Once again, my mind is churning and
I feel I have been tipped into extreme chaos and have no
control. I ask for my photographs, he hands them back
painfully and I know it is over.
For the next two months I grieve deeply -
another rite of passage - the broken heart. V starts talking to me
again, she sees K regularly as he and her brother have become friends
through a common interest in music. When I visit her once, he turns
up and my heart tumbles over. We are polite to each other; there is
no turning back and I decide I will be dignified in death. V plays a
song to me - Jolene, she says it's in sympathy. I have a sense that
it is revenge and she means to hurt me. She is successful but I do
not show it.
I continue my walks on Marine Drive and
discover there is something to be said for solitude, and there is joy and
resurrection in getting drenched in the monsoon rain.
The final act
I speak to Pearl Padamsee about Kiran and my
grief. She tells me I have considerable
talents and humanity; and shyness is not a crime. Her words are soothing.
Some of my hostel friends decide to play the
ouija board in my room due to a warped logic - I am the most
sceptical of the lot. One person instructs us on seance procedure
and we start. Once we believe a spirit has joined us, we each ask
three questions of the spirit - in our minds. I ask the following:
my overall mark in the HSC exam, whether I will get into medicine, and
whether K will ever come back to me. The small cup moves between the
alphabet and the numbers. I get a number, I get yes I will get into
medicine, and yes K will return. I keep this to myself. All
three answers turn out to be absolutely correct. Except that by the
time K writes to me, it is August 1979, I am a medical student, I am no
longer 16 and two years is an unbridgeable interval.
No one is allowed to call me Kim ever again.
I keep the bottle of Topaz till 1986
The rest of 1977
Several boys declare undying love for
me. I slowly get used to it, though I don't really believe them nor do I
reciprocate.
It is the start of the realisation that I am different from most girls my
age, that my head is busy wondering about things other than love and my
appearance.
Andrew and I become good friends. He is
in St X too, a year below. We become part of a gang who hang out
together. I do tell him firmly that I cannot love him and he should
not expect this from me. Our
friendship grows. We have a lot in common or we learn new things from each
other. There is an abundance of respect, of laughter, of singing
Beatles songs loudly and badly, of sick jokes, of eating पाव भाजी and drinking गन्ने का रस, of walking barefoot by the
sea in Navy Nagar/TIFR, of silently sitting together watching the sunset.
Occasionally I think of K and wish him well. I am told he has a
girl-friend and I feel no pain. He has and always will have, a special
place in my life. But it ends there.
On a holiday to Delhi, my family attends a
huge Expo where the drink Double Seven is launched. My brothers and I
toast India's answer to Coke and I feel proud of being Indian.
My hostel mates and I become firm friends. There is
something binding and bonding about hostel life - you discover intimate details
about people from living in their midst, and they about you. They join me
on my walks and we have regular bhel puri and kulfi outings. We win
(incredulously) the Floor Entertainment competition - a bunch of 12 Std girls.
We become famous in the hostel. Then amazingly, we win on Sports
Day. I am one of the favourites of the Warden, she gets worried if I
don’t turn up to dinner. We are soon at our puerile worst; we break
every hostel rule and get away with it. We learn to pick the lock to the
Warden’s office at night, in order to use her phone to make free phone calls.
We tease an unfortunate soul, a lady who answers the phone when we ring a
Gaitonde household. We ask for Mrs Gaitonde in Marathi - “मिस्सिस गैतोंदे आहे का ?” She says it is
her. We then ask "मिस्टर बैल तोंडे कुठे"? She hangs up angrily, but falls for it
innumerable times.
We watch old Hindi films and sing a lot. I
discover I can sing Geeta Dutt’s songs pretty well and think Shammi Kapoor was
pretty cool.
