The Stranger

She walked up to the girl who was holding a marigold by the school garden.

"May I?" she smiled with just her eyes, her lips sealed in order to conceal her recent tooth loss in front of her potential best friend.
The girl passed the flower to her with a little hesitation.
"Thank you. I am Shonali."
"Hi Shonali," she quickly looked away, "pleased to meet you."
"I am also pleased to meet you"
Shonali waited in silence for five whole seconds, hoping that her first day in the new school has a better beginning than this. "What is your name?"
"Sunaina." The girl's reply was terse and she stayed a few feet away, making no any eye-contact.
"I am new. I have come here from Kolkata"
"Where is that?" Sunaina's attention was caught.
"It is in the east of our country. It is thirty-six hours in the train"
"That's so many hours! What did you do in the train?"
"My Ma and I played games. We played the song game."
"Antakshari?"
"YES. Do you know it?"
"I am seven. Of course I know it. Everyone knows Antakshari."
"Oh sorry. I am new." Shonali suddenly realised she might be running the risk of burning bridges with her new friend. She quickly added,"I have a Tom and Jerry jigsaw puzzle set at home"
"Really? Can I play?"
Shonali's heart raced at the thought of a blooming friendship."YES YES YOU CAN. PLEASE COME TO MY HOME."

"Hmm...I need to ask my Ma. You are a Stranger"

"What is that?"

"Stranger? It means you are... someone else."

"But I am Shonali"

Sunaina shrugged her shoulders. She didn't know how to explain the word 'Stranger' to this new girl in her school. 

The bell rang and the two of them walked towards their class.

Miss Anitha was only twenty-two, but the tiny humans of her class thought she was as old as the earth. Perhaps, they just put all the grown-ups in one age-group. There were school children, and then there were grown-ups and finally there were grandparents. Simple. As she entered the class, the second graders rose to attention. The volume dropped like a row of dominos starting from the child sitting by the door to the children right at the back.

"Good morning, girls. How was everyone's holiday?"

She regretted immediately as the volume rose once again with a cacophony of children speaking over one another. "ALRIGHT QUIET NOW!" Seemed like Miss Anitha had forgotten the trick to handle a bunch of second graders over the break.

"Miss! Miss! We have a new girl Shonali from Kolkata who has Tom and Jerry Jigsaw puzzles," Dhara spoke up.

"Yes Miss! And she has a broken tooth," added Tanya

Clearly, some students were paying attention to her conversation with Sunaina.

"Yes kids, I am aware. Shonali dear will you step forward?"

Shonali made her way through the class, lips still sealed tight, searching for some friendly faces in her audience. Sunaina reciprocated with a gentle smile. 

"So Shonali from Kolkata. How do you like this new city?"
"Nice"
"Nice? Do you like Delhi?"
"Yes"
"Did you make friends yet?"
"Uh...Yes"
"Do you like your new uniform?"
"Yes"
"Are you shy, dear?"
"Okay"
Standing in front of a figure of authority, suddenly challenged Shonali's social skills.
"Would you like to tell the class about yourself?"
Well, she did not have a choice. She had been practicing this at home with her parents the previous week. She cleared her throat and faced the class:
"I am Shonali. I am seven years and five months old. I am from Kolkata. I am happy to come to St Josephs Girl's School, New Delhi. I like cartoons, mangoes and KitKat. My papa works in a office and ..."
"An office, dear" she heard Miss Anitha's voice. 
"An office"
"Yes. Because, 'o' is a vowel. So we say an before the vowel"
Shonali nodded obediently.
"Go on?"
The problem was, once she was interrupted, the flow of the speech that she had memorized flew right out of the window. Panic appeared on her face. She swallowed her saliva and looked at Miss Anitha and then at the class and then back at Miss Anitha. "I don't know"

"Miss is she going to cry?" Dhara sprung up again.
"Dhara, that is not nice. No, Shonali is not going to cry because she is a brave girl"
Shonali swallowed harder. Now she had no choice but to make sure that she did not cry. She needs them to know that she is brave. "Miss may I drink some water?"
"Yes dear, you may. See children! You can all learn how to use the word 'may' in your sentence like Shonali does. It is good manners."
Shonali quietly walked back to her desk and sat down. She was still trying to recollect the rest of the speech that she had worked so hard on. 

Miss Anitha started her lesson. She was teaching the class 'articles'. In the process, she shifted some attention to Shonali as she worded - "A mango", "A KitKat", "An office". She gave a very generous smile though Shonali was not sure whether she was being nice or ensuring Shonali never makes that mistake again. Shonali just smiled back - her default mode when she's nervous or anxious...something she will be carrying all the way to her adulthood. More anxious she was, the wider her smile got. 

After the class, Miss Anitha appointed a few girls to take Shonali around the primary school campus. So far her first day was not going as well as she had imagined. She was called "Stranger" which meant "someone else" and she could not finish her speech. For a seven year old, Shonali's thoughts ran deep. It was however intercepted by Dhara who suddenly held her hand. 

"I also have a Tom and Jerry puzzle like you Shonali. I am Dhara. I am also 7 years old. I don't like KitKat. My papa says children who eat KitKat have bad teeth. Do you have bad teeth, Shonali?"

"I don't know" 

"It's okay, Shonali. I can be your friend. My papa is a teeth doctor. He will fix you"

"Okay" Shonali smiled at the word friend. She also didn't understand why Dhara took her name so many times but she didn't dare to ask. 

They walked across the primary school as Dhara showed her around the not-so-big campus. By the time they were done, Shonali knew everything about Dhara. Dhara loved an audience and now that she had a new person, she wanted to put her storytelling skills to use. When they came back to class, she found Sunaina staring at her intentionally. The bell rang and the Math teacher entered the class. 

Miss Priya started the class by asking them how many of them practiced their multiplication tables during the holidays. Shonali raised her hands. Dhara objected with a nod and a sigh. Shonali recited the whole seven-tables upto 'seven times twelve' in front of the class. Miss Priya asked the class to clap for her. By the time she reached her desk, Dhara had decided she needed to move on from this new friend of hers. However, the rest of the class looked at Shonali like she was a Goddess. 

"You are so smart" said Tanya right after the class ended. "Miss Priya gave you so many claps. Miss Priya never gives claps." 

Four other girls joined the group asking her more questions about her. "You should be the next class Prefect! Err... maybe the vice-Prefect" said one of them. They all looked towards Sunaina, who currently held the position of 'class Prefect'. Shonali's old school did not have the concept of one class leader. They kept rotating the students each week but this school clearly believed in "the one". Sunaina did not seem very bothered by so many eyes on her or the fact that her currently held position might be in danger. She walked away without any reaction. Sunaina was seven as well but in Shonali's eyes she was a grown-up. She had that air about her. The word she was looking for had not made it to her vocabulary as yet - 'mature'.  All of a sudden, Sunaina's approval of her became the single-most important goal to Shonali. She wanted to be her friend and not her "someone else". 

By lunch, Shonali had a bunch of groupies. At that age, it was easier to make friends. Something Shonali will recall a couple of years later when she moves schools again as a pre-teen and then again as a mid-teenager. But on this day, Shonali was the talk of the primary school. Her name would be randomly taken by the girls in the other classes. "The new girl from Kolkata", "The new girl who got claps in Miss Priya's class", "The new girl who will be the next Prefect of class 2A". By the end of the day with only one more class left, Shonali got used to this new attention on her. 

The last class for the day was Science and Miss Meera walked in with a new haircut. The girls loved her as it is and this just got them more excited. 

"Yes, enough about me now. I hear you have a new girl? Are you Shonali?"

Shonali confidently walked up to the front of the class. She could feel the high of suddenly being popular. 

"Where are you from, Shonali?"

Shonali cleared her throat:

"I am Shonali. I am seven years and five months old. I am from Kolkata. I am happy to come to St Josephs Girl's School, New Delhi. I like cartoons, mangoes and KitKat. My papa works in AN office and my ma is a home-maker. I like mathematics and science. I want to grow up to be a...AN Astronaut. 

I am very happy to meet new friends and teachers. Thank you" 

The class clapped for her while Miss Meera continued to look confused for this unsolicited speech from Shonali. She joined the classed with the claps in amusement. "Thank you Shonali from Kolkata. Welcome to your new school. You can sit down now."

"Ma'am what is aeronot?" Tanya sprung up as Shonali made her way back.

"Astronaut? Astronauts are people who go to space"

"Like God?"

"No... they are the people who travel to other planets. Do you know what planets are?"

Shonali's hand sprung up but Miss Meera asked her to hold back. Miss Meera was a Shonali once upon a time and she knew that no one would like a know-it-all. 

"Okay class. It's a little advance for you but you are smart kids. Do you want to learn about planets today?"
"YEEEES" the class screamed in unison. This is what they loved about Miss Meera. She didn't do things by the textbook. Little did Miss Meera know that her contribution would be the beginning of more than half of this class of girls pursuing STEM course in the future. 

The students learnt about the planets and they repeated the names of the planets out loud. Shonali tried to repeat it half a second earlier than the other students so that Miss Meera would know that she knew these even before the class. Miss Meera asked Shonali to stay back after the bell rang.

"Shonali - you are a smart girl" 

Shonali smiled very pleased with herself. She was also very pleased that Miss Meera let her finish her speech without interrupting her. 

"Do you know what humble means?"
"No Miss"

"You know how you were trying to say the planet names before your friends could? That is not humble."

"But I know more. I am smart."

"You are smart. But if you keep showing off, you will soon start making your friends feel bad. Then they won't like you. Is that what you want?"
"Are my friends not smart?"

"No. That's not it. Some friends learn slower than others and that's okay. Do you understand that?"

Shonali doesn't really understand this until way into her teen years but when she finally does, she looks back to this moment in her life and realises that Miss Meera had warned her about what being an 'over-smart, know-it-all' gets you. However for Shonali, who was a "new girl" once every few years, it was the only way she thought she could make herself visible. 

"Shonali," Miss Meera continued. "You are a smart girl and the world will see it. You will find many other ways to show it but without making your friends feel bad about it. Yes?"

"Yes"

"That's good. Keep working hard and you will surely be an Astronaut one day"

"Thank you, Miss Meera" She walked towards the door and she stopped to look back. "What is a Stranger?"

"Stranger? Where did you hear that?"

"Sunaina said I was a Stranger. And that it means I am someone else" 

"Ah! Is that what you feel? Like you are someone else?"

Shonali had no idea what she was talking about. "I don't know"

"Shonali, you are not a Stranger. You are new. Give it some time and you will feel... less new. The girls already like you. Just remember what I said and you will be fine."

Shonali didn't get the answer to her question but she smiled and thanked Miss Meera anyway. She just wanted to go home now.   

As she walked towards her gate, she found Sunaina waiting for her. "Your speech was nice" 

"Really? You liked it? Thank you."

"Don't listen to Dhara. Your teeth are fine." 

"Really?" Shonali smiled sincerely, this time without piercing her lips. Sunaina reciprocated. 

"Do you want to meet my Ma? She is standing right there. She is a home-maker too." 

They started walking towards Sunaina's Ma. Despite the shaky start to her day, Shonali was thrilled that she had survived the first day in a new school. For years to come she would remember this day as the best "first days" ever. Being a transfer kid is not easy but this was the beginning of her learning to be 'Resilient' - another word that will make into her vocabulary a bit later in her life but a word she will hold on to tightly. There will be many Miss Anithas and Miss Meeras. There will be many more Sunainas as well but on this day - this is THE Sunaina who will have shaped all her friendships in her life to come. Even as an adult, Shonali would always look back at this day and feel that same high.

"Ma this is Shonali. She is not a Stranger. She is a friend. Can I go to her home to play?"

Four Misfits

 "Hey man, how was your long weekend?" Yana pulled a chair to join the lunch table. Judy and Max looked up but it was Pete that she was addressing, "did you get enough sleep?" 

"Is that custard?" Pete looked at Yana's plate. "Are you seriously having custard for lunch?" 

"Pete, you are changing the topic" The other two smiled to themselves.

"Yanaaaa"

"Peeeete" 

"Yanaaaaaaa"

"Peeeete"

"Yeah, stop it." Max interjected. "Yana, Pete was just telling us about his weekend. He was telling us about his fishing trip with his ex boyfriend's neighbour's brother. Sounds like a good trip" 

Judy choked on her food and began to cough. "Yep... except for the weird connections bit" 

"Alright then! Glad to know you got some semblance of company at least for a while. So we won't find you on slack at 10PM, working to kill time" 

"He's interesting, to be honest. Actually he's an anthropologist. So while fishing..." 

"Oooo.." Judy's eyes lit up. "My grand dad was an anthropologist. He died broke."

"Good God. That's a quick biography" Max chuckled. 

"Oh no! I don't mean it in a mean way. I am just saying. I think he was super fascinating but the world does not pay you for being fascinating" 

"Oh this guy gets paid alright. He is a PhD fellow and he's super good at studying people. He has been recruited by companies to help them with consumer research"

"Oh we should totally hire him" Yana spoke with a mouth full of custard. "I have a tricky Customer Interview next week and I don't know how the hell to go about it." 

"Yeah yeah but back to topic. So while fishing he often brought up this book. Some Old..."

"THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA? I LOVE IT" Judy interrupted again. 

"Yeah yeah yeah that book. And the best part is, he summarised the book for me in three simple sentences. I now feel as though I have read the whole book." 

"Wait what's that got to do with Anthropology?" Max tried to stifle a yawn. 

"Nothing. I just found him interesting. You know how sometimes you just feel way smarter by simply hanging out with certain smart people?"

"Yeah - you are welcome" Yana winked. The other two laughed as Pete rolled his eyes. 

"Urgh... are you not done with your custard?"

"What's your problem with this custard?"

"How do you not have proper meals? How is dessert a meal?" 

Max shook his head in amusement. "Stop judging her man. Let her be. So Yana, how was your weekend? Did something interesting?"

"Mmmm... tried to read a book. Then gave up."

"What was it about?"

"So it was this book about two friends who used to be close and now not so much and then they talk and try to find out why and blah blah. I don't know. I don't think I have the emotional capacity for this anymore"

"I actually like the premise" Judy leaned forward. "I would really like to know what they found out"

"Why? I think as adults we all have the natural tendency to grow apart. Not all this friends forever shit."

"Okay. No one is saying anything about friends forever but I still think it's interesting to figure out existing dynamics between people"

"Yeah I am growing too old for this. I don't know"

Judy smiled and decided to drop it there. 

"I agree with Judy here. I have some very close friends. I would like to figure stuff out as well if things were not going well with them."

"No no! Don't get me wrong. I don't mean I don't care about my close friends. You guys know Nikhil right? He's been my best friend since... I don't know like when I was one. I love him. But he's married now and he has his life and I won't obsess about him being in my life as much as he used to and..."

"No but I don't think it's got anything to do with their mental or physical presence right? It's basically around what would happen to your state of mind if you find out that Nikhil and you don't share the same dynamic as before?" 

"That's the thing Max, I don't think I care enough to start preparing myself for such a situation" 

"Ah interesting" Judy smiled "So it's not that you don't care. It's just that you don't want to ponder about these things until you are in that situation"

"Unless, I am in that situation. Yes" Yana corrected Judy and reciprocated the smile. The waiter arrived with Pete's post-lunch coffee order. He sat up and took the first sip.

"So you are in denial" Pete tried to jump into the conversation. 

"That is not what Yana was saying at all"

"Sorry. I lost you guys way before then."

"Yeah, just drink your coffee man" Max sat back in his chair and stretched. "Actually Judy, how did your grand dad pick up anthropology as a subject in that generation? I mean, sorry if I sound crass but isn't that only something rich folks would do, who don't have to care about paying rent?"

"I just said, he died broke." Judy continued to smile. One unique thing about Judy is that the length of her smile is directly proportional to the depth of her thought. "I don't know. I really liked him. Actually both him and my grand ma. I spent a lot of time with them while growing up. My grand ma worked, which is cool given she is a woman of that generation. Technically she was the breadwinner of the family. My grand dad just really liked reading books and studying people. I remember him telling me that he wanted to be a family psychologist or something but his dad looked down upon anything mental health related...you know...all the taboo. So he like got a scholarship for some Anthropology course within Hungary so he kinda went against the family's will. Ah it's a whole long story" 

"Wow. Yeah this friend I was telling you about needed to fight with him family as well. This was like in 2018 when he decided to pursue this direction. Imagine how had it might have been for you Grand dad" 

"Yeah it was. But I sometimes wonder, if he ever regretted it you know? Cause I am guessing it must have been hard for him to watch his wife do all the heavy-lifting while he sat at home. Though my grand ma liked her job" 

"Well someone had to turn the tables around" Max shrugged. "Women have been doing heavy-lifting either way." 

Yana looked up at Max and back at her plate in a quick motion, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. Pete noticed but remained silent. 

"Haha no I don't mean that. My grand ma was definitely a power woman. But my grand dad was really passionate about his subject. And back then there were no industrial opportunities like Pete's friend has. Imagine having so much passion for something but no point coming out of it"

"Nah.. I won't look at it that way" Pete nodded. "Do you measure your worth with your paycheck?"

"No but I definitely measure my worth with having a job. I could be a brilliant analyst in my head but if I am not employed I am definitely going to feel shitty" 

"Naaaah... I bet your grand dad was too evolved for this. I am telling you right. This friend of mine.."

"What's his name by the way?"

"Ah, Asher. So Asher was also unemployed for a bit after his masters. But despite that he decided to apply for PhD. At that time he didn't know he would get these opportunities. Like these people are simply passionate about their field."

"I hope so" Judy's smile faded. "I'd like to believe he had a full life. I loved chatting with him about books and philosophy and human psychology. He was so zen. But still there was some sadness in his eyes that always bugged me"

"Hey for all you know he was perfectly fine and that's just the eyes of every PhD graduate." Max softly patted Judy's shoulder and chuckled. The whole table laughed. That's the unique thing about Max. He's profound and yet can keep things light. He's like the elastic band - he know just how far to go before he gently pulls back, making sure nothing snaps. 

They stewed in silence for a bit, collectively thinking about Judy's grand dad and wondering what his life would have been like. Pete then put down his cup and turned towards Yana. 

"Hey! Nikhil did a PhD right?" 

"Oh good lord, no. Not even a bit" 

"Hmm.. Why do I remember you saying something about PhD?"

"Oh no. That was my dad. As in, he wanted me to. I didn't want to. That's that." 

"That's that" Judy mimicked. "Classic Yana response"

"What? That is that. There's no story here. I told my dad no - he said okay" 

"Are things in your life so straightforward because you are straightforward or is it the other way round?" Max asked curiously. 

"Things are not straightforward. I don't know. As I said I just started seeing things in a very straightforward fashion. It was less painful that way."

"Okay then describe what actually happened with the conversation with your dad?" Pete asked. Max immediately shifted his gaze towards him, trying to decide whether this is an elastic snap moment in the work environment and whether he needs to intervene. But Yana was quick to respond with a nervous smile. 

"Oh lord. Nothing. There was a bit of back and forth and he then said okay fine it's your life, your choice. He told me he thought I was smart enough to get a PhD in Mathematics but I didn't want to go deep into quant. You guys know what I do. I am not a Judy or a Max. I would rather spend more time in Qualitative Research than do math."

"Yeah, you will make a good Anthropologist," Pete laughed. "And hey thanks for conveniently forgetting me."

"Fuck! Sorry sorry. Judy, Max & you. Mathies. Math people. Whatever." 

"Isn't that an Indian stereotype? Math?"

"Yeah yeah we have a lot of stereotypes."

"Do you relate to any of it?" 

"You mean among the stereotypes? Meh. I don't know. I can't drive."

"Wait. That's an Indian stereotype? I have not heard of that one."

"No no - women. Women stereotype" 

"Hey I drive!" Judy was quick to jump in. "I drive really well. Seamlessly switching between left and right each time I am here vs when I go back home."

"No no I know. I am not saying the stereotype is true. I just meant I fit into it. Sorry sorry. I should have shut up." 

"Why can't you drive?" Max got right to the point, grounding the awkwardness into a real conversation. "Have you learnt or what happened there?"

"No no. I did, I did." Unique thing about Yana. She's pragmatic in her neutral state and extremely uneasy when that state is challenged. "It's not that." Her body language tightened. 

"We can talk about something else if you want" Judy said softly. 

"No I am fine. I am just wondering why we walked into this haha. Anyway to answer your question, yeah. I did learn. I was a nervous driver. I just never thought I could drive. I don't know if it's because I heard so many people say this to me while I was growing up, so I just internalised it or maybe I am just using this as an excuse instead of admitting that I really can't drive. I don't know. I just never got over the nervous phase and I just gave up. And anyway, I don't & won't be ever able to own a car here. So it doesn't matter." 

"We were all nervous drivers when we started I think" Max said. "We then slowly learnt and got over it I guess. I remember banging into trees so often. Oh man"

"Yeah but see I didn't know whether this was a me-thing or a normal-thing. So I assumed it was a me-thing. And anyway, if I have such terrible confidence I should not be on the road. Anyway..."

"No but that sucks." Max looked concerned. "You may be very right there. You grow up hearing you can't do something and you definitely internalise it. Like it just happens. And then there's like this confirmatory bias each time there's a semblance of failure. Judy did you have this as well?"

"I mean of course there were jokes. Like my classmates would make fun of girls when they said they joined driving school. The whole typical Oooo we will keep away from the road blah blah blah but not really. Also again because of my grand ma, in general women in my household had it better than average I guess?"

"Wow your grand ma took one of the team" Pete smiled 

"She did! She really did. She was very stoic as well. So I could never get much out of her. Like I used to try and have these long conversations with her and understand her journey but she didn't like to speak much about her life. She would just tell me about how much she loved her job and how I should pursue whatever it is I feel passionate about"

Pete leaned in. "I think people who go through a lot, like beyond saturation point, don't like to talk about their journey. It's like - they just acknowledge the fact that they have made it so far and they are scared that revisiting those stories might pull them back" 

"Yeah probably" Max chimed in. "But that sucks though. There's so much to learn from their stories. Like in general I have not had much chance to speak to many women. I am an only child and I lost my mum really young. I don't know I just..."

"But why women though? There are many people in general who have difficult journeys irrespective of their gender" Yana had to ask. 

"I mean yes. I agree. Okay so around the #metoo era, urgh... I hate calling it an era - it's not like it's not happening anymore, anyway, so around the time women were coming out with their stories I was completely scandalised. I had a zillion questions around why these women didn't do anything about it when these incidents actually happened, about why is it that they are calling these out now. Also around putting myself in their place and thinking of what if I were the one getting abused and how I would have never allowed that person to get away with it. Like all nonsensical thoughts like these. I was at my first job then and I had a very close female colleague of mine who sat me down and patiently answered these questions for me. I mean, in hindsight she was really patient because my questions were absolutely ridiculous. That's when I realised the chasm of knowledge I have had with respect to issues women face. It made me feel like I have lived half my life with only the male's perspective to things and that just made me feel like crap. You know what I mean?" He turned to Pete. 

"Absolutely man. It's incredible how the movement finally gave a voice to so many of these women. I remember in my first job, I had this colleague of mine and her story..."

"Yeah I think I need to fill up my water bottle." Yana shifted in her chair again. 

"Yana. Are you okay?" Pete focussed his gaze on her.

"I am fine."

"I mean we can change the topic, but you can tell us if there's anything happened"

"Ah no no no. Nothing happened. As in yes, I have had my versions of it in my life but that's not what's bothering me." She sighed. 

"What is it then?"

She turned to Judy and sighed again. "I don't know.  Judy, maybe you can help me out here. This is the first time I am in a table with women's issues being discussed and no one has yet brought up the yeah but what about men or oh but women also do this and that and basically diluting the conversation with something like that. Usually I am ready with my internal defences to fight that one person, man or woman, who brings this up. I just don't know how to respond to these wholesome conversations" 

Max shrugged " I mean, I am not saying all men are having it easy or men are all jackasses or all women are suffering. I am just talking about the women who went through this journey and how hard it must have been for them. Literally just that cohort. I mean we all know there are men who have their share of #metoo stories as well AND there are women who have taken advantage of this to shame men with false accusations as well but why should we speak about these cohorts when we are talking about the first cohort?"

"SEE! Exactly. That's the level of maturity that I am not used to in a group conversation." 

Judy smiled at Yana. "Yeah I know what you mean. Also I am sorry but you seem to have really met some specific quality of assholes in your old company or in life in general. I mean yeah, there are people who scream out #notallmen the moment a woman says #metoo. There will always be those. Same with #blacklivesmatter and someone immediately screaming 'NO #alllivesmatter' like an idiot. But I think people in general are really growing. We are all beginning to understand each others perspectives better. Look at us right here."

"Yeah." Pete leaned in again "We all have our privileges - something that puts us in a slightly betteroff positioning in the society compared to the other" 

Yana nodded. "Yeah we are 4 people right here with 4 completely different backgrounds. Each of us privileged in one way or the other." 

The heaviness of the conversation lay upon the 4 of them for a bit. Each thinking about one of the many layers that was unpacked in the last couple of minutes. 

After some time, Yana turned towards them with a smile, having regained her neutral state.

"Since we are soaking into this, can I float a question? What was your biggest insecurity while growing up?"

"Oh money money money" Judy did not miss a beat. "I mean, we did okay. But we were perhaps from one of the lower income households in Budapest. It took a while before we could start making it a bit bigger than what we were for the longest time."

The other three nodded understandingly. 

"Mine was loneliness." Max cleared his throat. "I mean, my dad worked till late. I didn't have any siblings. Always wanted a sister though. Like I used to deliberately make more female friends to make sisters. It was super weird. Like I was super weird as a kid. So not really fun to hang out with"

"Were you bullied?" asked Pete. 

"Yeah man, a lot. I mean. Not a lot-a lot. But enough to feed into my loneliness. But things changed a bit once I moved to boarding school in the outskirts of Edinburgh. This was around the time I was14 or 15. I found many more misfits like me and we clicked well. Plus I have a A-class therapist so that's been awesome. I guess life just has a way of working out" 

"Speaking of working out..." Pete slides in slowly with a smile. Everyone in the table knew what Pete was going for with this segue. Pete has been more of an open book to this bunch - that's one of his unique charms. "Yes people. My insecurity, as you all have already heard me speak of earlier, was around the way I look"

"Dude, your insecurity has gotten you this far man", Max laughs squeezing Pete's well bulging biceps. 

"No man - not just my weight. My height as well. That's not going to change at all man. I still feel badly about it. Also the reason I asked Yana about stereotypes - growing up, I was very angry with the Asian men stereotypes around our physique. Like when I did my undergrad in Chicago it was very frustrating."

"Ah!" Yana nodded. "Yeah I know what you mean. I mean not that I relate but I have had Asian male friends with similar experiences when I was studying in LA. But for some reason all of them were pretty much gym bros like you. Is that a deliberate thing to fight stereotypes?" 

"I mean, I can't speak for them. It was, for me. 100%"

"Fair enough." Everyone nodded and looked towards Yana.

"Wait, me? I mean - mine is obvious right? Growing up as a woman, so most of my thoughts were around that. Like not an insecurity per se but just that I just felt like with my potential I would have done so much better in my life if I were born a male. Again! This is also coming from my own chasm of knowledge about what men face" she quickly looked up at the men in the table. Their countenance remained as calm as when she had started speaking. Yana realised she needs to start working on her perpetual defence mode, anticipating attacks. 

"So when are you redoing the driving course?" Judy smiled. "I REALLY like to drive so I would really like you to feel that thrill and empowerment as well" 

Yana nodded and smiled, "some day, soon" 

"We should do a road trip together" Max got up from his chair. 

"Oh no way" Yana followed, putting the chair back. "We just got way too close to each other with this lunch. I am not talking to you guys for a few weeks now" 

The other three laughed and joined her as they began to walk back to the office building. 

The Journey of A Transfer Kid

As of 30th July 2020, I finished 6 years in Singapore. As I woke up this morning, I realised that Singapore is the place  I have lived the longest in my life. The feeling was so unsettling that I decided to allow myself to delve a little deeper and ask myself 'what does this mean for me?'

First, some context. In the 27 years of my life, I have -

• studied in 9 academic institutions ( 7 schools before the age of 18)
• lived in 9 cities (4 different zones of the country)
• lived in 16 apartments

The city (before Singapore) where I have lived the longest would be a tie between Mumbai and Bangalore with four years each.

The lack of identity with respect to where I belong is so ingrained that I no longer realise it. When someone asks me "Where are you from?", I just reply "My parents currently live in Delhi". Simple.

There used to be a time I used this as a mechanism that many people called "show-off". I used to list out the cities, roll my eyes as though I have to pause to think whether I got the order correct ... secretly hoping someone would be interested in my story.

Okay frankly, it was a brilliant icebreaker with the "adults". Adults like getting to know you, if you have a different story than the fellow millennials. I still remember when I landed in my first summer internship and told a senior about this and he called me the "most interesting person he has ever met". I barely worked with him all summer but I would never forget this moment. The validation that ... someone finds my story interesting.

Why so needy, Sandhya?

Before I answer that, I would request you to close your eyes for a few seconds and think of "home". What are the images that come to your mind? I am talking about non-living images alone.

Even at the grown age of 27 I am extremely attached to my soft toys. Despite my friends making fun of me (some of them a little too much), what they don't see is the reason for the attachment. Until recently, "home" was never a physical place. As a kid, when I said I wanted to go home, what I meant was, I wanted to go cuddle my soft toys and stay there silently till I feel better. Every new place I went to, they came with me. Best part is that as I grew, the collection grew larger.

When I went back to Delhi earlier this year, my mother and I were pointing at each soft toy and recollecting where we bought them. She remembered the exact location and the moment it happened, even for the ones that were bought when I was an infant. I remembered which ones I befriended the most and which ones came the most handy when I was either scared or sad.

"A physical location" never made a part of my identity. I am ethnically a Tamilian, born in Tamil Nadu (Southern most state of India). Growing up predominantly in the North of India,  I was always the "that South-Indian girl in my class" in every school I went to. Though I spoke flawless Hindi, my identity never seemed to fit with them. I spoke in Tamil only at home and naturally as I grew, like most teenagers I spoke much less at home. My Tamil always lacked the native flavour and the grammatical accuracy and well ... it was garbage. When I went down South to meet my cousins and relatives, they would make fun of my grammar (which I didn't particularly mind... most of the times) and would call me "that north-indian cousin" (eh?).

Sometimes my peers would address me based on where I moved from - when I moved from Kolkata to Meerut, I was "that Kolkata girl", when I moved to Mumbai, I was "that Meerut girl". In Bangalore, I was the "Mumbai girl"... I mean, you get the point (damn! it's just so hard to resist listing it out)

With every transfer, came a new challenge. Sometimes it was 'learning a new language' other times it was 'getting into people's already established friend circles'. Statements like "see, you are new here, so..." was used much more than "hello". 

Having always fit the definition of a good student, what my peers saw in me was the privilege of being the smart one. That's a brilliant identity to have, no doubt. But how I wished someone wanted to get to know me, better. How I wished someone did not assume that I have been so privileged to have done well for myself - "things come too easily for Sandhya"

I still remember the time when I went to a bunch of girls in my 6th school and started crying, one of the most cringeworthy moments of my life - forcing my story on them. As expected, they brushed me aside and said "do you always cry so much?" Anything to fish out some validation, yeah? 

When I look back, I don't see a girl writhing in self-pity and focussing on only what she did not have. Technically, that's what it was. 

But what she really wanted was to be heard. And I know this for a fact, as I practiced it each night as I hugged my soft toys, if people had actually given me the validation, my next step was to move on. I wanted to move on. But I was not prepared to do so until I was sure that people knew my story. 

In hindsight, what I needed to know was that in order to make your story heard, you first need to become "someone". And in order to do that, you need to move on. I had gotten the whole thing wrong. 

I look back at the last 3-4 years and the social circle that has evolved in my life and I almost cannot believe there was a time I was so lonely. I actually have healthy friendships. Me. 

What happened? 

Here is the truth I learnt:

In cases like these where people have not gone through what you have and it is not exactly categorised as trauma, most people are not interested to speak to victims. However, they love hearing from survivors. Survivors are inspiring...victims bring you down. I am not sure what's right or wrong. There are high chances that none of the teens (& current adults) had the appetite to listen to my story. After all, everyone's got their stuff. And after all, it's harder to have the willingness to invest your time and energy in a new person when they can spend that energy to try and fix the numerous things that are wrong within their existing circles and life. 

Perhaps, it is this understanding that eventually helped me move on.  I realised the following things  -

1. I don't need people to know the real me, to fit in - I can have (& still have) friends who simply like hanging out with me and have no clue about my story 
2. I can use this opportunity of frequent fresh starts to rediscover myself and present a new, possibly better version of myself (#fakeittillyoumakeit)
3. Forcing myself on people is NOT equal to fitting in (seems like a very straightforward thing but this was a hard one to understand for someone who was extremely lonely)
4. You do not need a best friend. If you have people who care (even if they don't always show), you have a win :)

5. If you cannot fit in then stand out! 

The last one helped me shape myself into the adult I am today. The thought that I can be lonely and still am capable of being awesome is what helped me get out of the slump I was in, as a teenager. 

'When I make myself awesome... people will want to be my friend - until then, I focus on becoming awesome' The word awesome entailed different things based on where I was and my age but eventually it helped to erase that perpetual bitterness and need for attention. 

I didn't even know that I moved on until a bunch of my friends in Singapore were complaining about moving houses and how annoying the process of packing and unpacking is and instead of rolling my eyes and saying "oh how cute!" (like my bitter self would have said), I could empathize and use my experience to help them optimize the process. It was liberating to not identify myself by the struggles of the past but by the choices I have made in the present. 

I also realised that at the same time I need to respect my story. Respecting my story would not mean speaking to everyone I know about it. It's about managing my anxiety pertaining to change (which I still continue to have). Moving houses, new job, new office location - all of these bring about anxiety... not the physical labour related to it, just the idea of a new start and the perpetual ache of leaving behind what I have gotten used to. Reminding myself that it's okay to feel anxious and also that I have done this before and it is going to be okay. Reminding myself that I will be able to create a home, any where I go. 

A major part of this was ensuring I have a soft toy corner in my current room to wake up to. A corner with literally no particular use-case... but a corner that makes me smile ... a corner, I call home :) 

"Please, Ma'am!"

As Singaporeans are holding their breath, awaiting this year's election results, I can't help but recall a specific incident from the previous election season in 2015. I was a student at National University of Singapore back then, new to the country, my only goal that day being 'how to optimize that public holiday in the best possible way for my studies'.

Even back in India, I did not concern myself with the politicians around me and their impact on our day-to-day lives. Well, naturally, I was from a well-off family. My father had always provided enough (and more) for me to bother myself about which leader's policies would have a worse impact on my existence. Despite being a student of economics, the only politics I was exposed to was something that's good enough for "research/knowledge", to either complement my thesis or build stronger understanding of certain economic concepts. I had never had an emotional opinion about a political party back then.

On September 11th 2015, I was sitting at Starbucks within my campus and going over the assumptions of Solow Model. After a 9-hour study session, I decided that I deserve a Dark Mocha - Grande. I walked up to the counter, like any other millennial, eyes glued to the phone, waiting in line to make my order. I was however, perhaps the only person in the line without any headphones on.
I suddenly heard someone call out to me from behind the counter, though it was not my turn yet.
"Hey, Ma'am!" his voice quivered in a whisper. I looked up to find a middle-aged man, worry spread across his face like a box of spilt rice scattered on a clean floor. His eyebrows looked as though they were perpetually folded inwards. Just watching him alone made me wonder what bad news he might bear.
"Yes, Uncle?"
"Can you please tell me the results?"
I wondered, quite stupidly, why he wanted to know my macroeconomics grade. I nodded in a perplexed manner.
"The elections..is the counting done?"
"I don't know, uncle"
"That phone...check...please"

I fiddled with my phone, still surprised of being approached this way. I did not even notice that it was my turn to order. The student behind me took his headphones off and asked roughly - "hey you done ordering ah?"

Uncle immediately disappeared into the room reserved for Starbucks staff. The girl at the counter, a part-time student, asked me what I wanted to have and rolled her eyes as uncle came back. I got out of the line and he hastily followed me to the pick-up counter -
"hey! Please... please... it's time already, Ma'am"

He swiftly ran back to the room with 4 used cups he had just picked up from the counter. I walked away nodding, with my phone and my drink... one representing a source of information he didn't have access to and other representing my 'reward' for the day. Both representing privilege.

I sat back in my chair and took the first sip of my drink. My gaze was arrested by the look he carried on his face as he went around the coffee house, clearing tables. I watched his eyes contract from time to time and at one point I saw him mumbling something to himself. It felt as though his life depended on how the evening turns out.

I took my phone out again and opened the polling page. I walked up to him after he finished clearing the last table and showed him my screen so that he could make sense of it. (I didn't know what GRC was... and frankly, I didn't care)

"NO!!" his eyes widened. "Ma'am, I am not supposed to look at the phone on duty please."

The stress on the word 'please' each time started to make me feel uncomfortable.

"Okay, uncle. What do you want to know?"

He told me his GRC, and asked me to check who won. I searched through the list and gave him the verdict. His eyes lowered for a few seconds, almost dramatically, flickered and rose towards me again. He nodded - "Thank you, Ma'am."

He walked away; his anxious pace replaced by a slow waddle. It looked like he was limping, as though I had wounded him. He moved to the billing area, taking the place of the student who just finished her shift. "Next, please?"

I walked back to my chair and continued sipping my drink. The next twenty minutes was quiet in my head as I sunk myself into absorbing the entire experience. What amount of privilege blurs your ability to understand the extent of what a fellow human is going through? At what point do you realise that your story is barely a fraction of representation of the entire population? Despite being under the same roof, you can be worlds apart.

I packed my notes and walked out of the almost empty coffee house. I tossed my cup in the bin and from the corner of my eyes, I caught uncle cry as he closed the counter. 

The Spot

What defines you?
Is it the best and worst of your past or the glories of the present? Or perhaps you like defining yourself by the very purpose you are chasing in the future.

After a long day of work (mentally), I decided to take a walk in my alma mater. Currently, sitting in the same place I did my maximum campus days "wonderings" in, I can't help but ask - Who the hell am I?

No build ups, no spoilers! Obvious answer - no one knows, no one cares. In the sense, people go their whole life leading their normal day-to-day activities without actually pausing to clarify this never-ending identity crisis. They are smart. Quite naturally this is the most twisted question of all.

Why do 'I' care? I care to ask this question because each time I sit at this stone step overlooking the campus lawn, I have felt different. I graduated 3 years back and have perhaps visited this same spot at least 50 times (I am very attached to my University - that shouldn't be a surprise beyond this). Sometimes, I have also made major detours to just spend a few moments alone in this spot. All for what? Perhaps, I like to constantly remind myself about the baby steps into adulthood...

I messed up. Or life messed me up. It does not matter...I messed up a lot and crawled in rock bottom way too many times to have the hope of getting up from this very spot. I had my first panic attack here. With the University students watching me in bewilderment, wondering whether I need help or will I harm them, until a familiar face ran through the crowd to hug me tight. I cried till I lost the ability to produce more tears and the best part is I don't even remember the trigger that caused me to break down.

I had my heartbreaks (more than one) at this very spot. I had my epiphany of how awesome I am right here. Most importantly this is the same spot that gave me hope and took it back and gave me hope again until I decided to stick with that hope since that is LITERALLY the only thing that will get me through this. `This...being life.

This is the same spot where I got my first job offer letter. I again had all the random students watch me but this time because I was jumping up and down with joy. I did see a few people with a smile that conveyed a silent "congratulations, stranger".

THIS is the spot I had my first dream-career-house-life vision. As I read the alumni websites and the success stories, I memorized their life-style as much as I memorized the way they achieved it. I drew a picture of the kind of Alumnus I would be. How I would feel when I walk back into the campus after a couple of years.

This is the spot I first made acquaintance with the then soon to be love of my life. Well, this is the spot where I learnt to be comfortable with saying cheesy things like - "love of my life". Even though the ONLY campus-memory I share with him is of me having my initial chats over texts, the only space I felt comfortable doing it out of was this. 

The interesting thing about this spot is that NUS logo that shines in bright orange above our head. Strangely to me, it was both an indication of "you are still in the security of this campus and you have no idea what horrendous thing awaits you out there" as well as "man you have grown a lot and now you are ready to step out".

I remember my last few days in the campus. Oh yes, I of course cried a lot. But something I can never forget is how I told myself that the novelty of this campus will never fade on me...as much as the novelty of my ever-evolving identity. Turns out, it is true. It is the same damn stone step overlooking the lawn with whatsoever no addition to the overall infrastructure but feels so fresh to the eyes! Turns out that every new identity brings out a new perspective which in turn brings out your ability to push forward through the mundanity and what seems like a never-ending loop of "generic millennial problems". 

Well one thing remains unaltered - my ability to ramble on for hours each time I visit here. As I look up now, once again at the NUS logo and then at the window which once used to be my room, I can't help but wonder whether there is another version of me looking at the campus lawn and drawing her own dream-career-house-life perfect plan! 

Inter-caste Marriages - Journey Towards Smiling Egos

In my middle school there were a group of students who formed a club of their own. It started out with three students. They established the club for fun and exclusivity (the kewl factor) during one of the recess breaks that we had. The club literally served no purpose other than getting together during the break time and after school hours to play games together. The group was called - ' Kool Kidz Klub' (Triple K).

Very soon the popularity of Triple-K grew in our batch. They even formed their own secret language similar to the popular P-Language; yes you guessed it right - the K-language. They formed their club rules, such as dress code for each time they met after school hours in one of their houses, the kind of games they will play and the kind of games they will never play. One of them being proficient in artistic skills even drew out a logo for the club. They fixed a date for a monthly feast out of their pocket money.

The group grew as the participants increased. The cofounders were thrilled to have students from not only our batch but also a few junior as well as senior batches joining them. By the end of the second term of our sixth grade, their membership was around thirty-five people.

The most fascinating thing about the club was that the cofounders were worshipped - even by the seniors. Barring some minor changes to the rules, the club followed the same pattern of regulations as before. Anyone who failed to adhere to the rules; say refused to wear black because it is too hot outside or refused to listen to metal music, they were kicked out of the club. You were allowed to speak to the non-members of the club but if you were seen borrowing notes from them or having lunch with them, the members frowned upon you. The ego they carried with them was so high that anything rational - like what if the non-members notes would actually benefit us, did not matter. No one dared to break the rules lest they should be disregarded by the rest. Well this was middle school after all. How mature do you think a bunch of twelve year olds could be?

Let me press the flash-forward button as I skim through the innocent childhood days to the even more innocent adulthood. Dhanalakshmi and Victor were friends. Dhanalakshmi was a beautiful girl belonging to a popular club called 'Tamil Brahmin'.  She was smart, sharp and very capable of leading her life. Victor belonged to a club named 'Malayali Christians'. He was smart, sharp and very capable of leading his own life. Dhanalakshmi and Victor found their intellectual as well as emotional partners in each other. However, when they broke the news to their respective club members they were frowned upon. They were put to shame for not following the 'no-non-member' rule of the club. They tried to convince their club members emphasising on how good their partner is for them. The only reply they got "Perhaps! But he(she) is not a part of our family and will never be. Allowing this would mean there are no sufficient good men(women) in our own community for you. It would mean,  you disrespect us and strip us of our community's pride"

 Juxtaposing the two situations I cannot help but draw the similarities between my childhood and what I see happening around me in my adulthood. The reasons I have mentioned in the short anecdote with respect to why the club members refuse this kind of union is just one part of the whole picture. Given a pen and paper to the community followers you will have pages or perhaps books full of information, myths and justifications against inter-caste marriages. Amusing enough the entire prose can be summarised to 'this is how it has always been and hence this is how it should be'. What is more amusing is when without further justification your emotional and intellectual partner is rejected with the final, assertive words - 'We know better than you do. This is for your own good.' Instead, the two perfect pieces of a jigsaw puzzle is ripped apart as each are arranged to marry the partner they barely know within their respective communities and are pushed into a room to consummate their relationship with that 'perfectly chosen' stranger. Club members smile; ego satisfied.

Sometimes I wish Dhanalakshmi and Victor were in my high-school instead. At least after I quit Triple-K I had a home to go back to.

As A Writer - Find Your Safe Spot

My Tale. My Truth. My Trauma.

As a writer wanting to spread mental health awareness, my journey has been rather funny. Only when you broach the topic on the ‘D’ word and the ‘A’ word do you realize how weak the understanding is even among your own peers. No one generally likes to hear about depression or anxiety. Nobody likes to talk about it. Most people either think that it is ‘lecture time’ or that you’re whining about your life. Lately, I have come to realize that there are a lot of people who do not intend to be rude but they just don’t get it.

One of my friends behaved exactly that way.

He said, “I don’t get it. I am a rational person. I understand that one can be sad for a while after something happens but if they remain in the dark pit for long instead of fighting to get out of it, then it is their choice. They are being a loser. I don’t get it!”

He sounded way too genuine. He is smart and usually kind. However, he said that no matter how hard he tried, (for the sake of his partner who has clinical depression) he isn’t able to connect to the core problem.

For someone like me who has, until very recently kept her trauma and mental health issues swept under the carpet, I now find it too hard to sugarcoat my words. Over the past year, my writing style has been more direct and even harsh sometimes. I can’t get through an article without my peers telling me that it is too dark and they are unable to connect to it. Some of my friends don’t even read my blog posts anymore.

They’ve said, “You are a wonderful writer, no doubts about that. But I get disturbed. So I don’t read them anymore”

This just frustrates me further. I refuse to put a floral image in place of my raw darkness just so that I don’t ‘trigger others’ or so that I don’t come across as someone that’s too aggressive and dramatic. It gets lonely when at every chance people get, they tell you that no matter how hard they try, they don’t get you.

Last night I attended a workshop that was about developing ways to express our mental health through writing. It was one of the best workshops I’ve been to this year. It began with a bunch of exercises like writing your own alien language and using that to communicate with fellow aliens, narrating your life story in 45 seconds (and then discovering which moments do we consider the key ones).

For the last exercise, we did something that I’m quite sure we’ve all done at school at some point. There were three objects in front of us. We were supposed to pick one object and narrate its life from its point of view. We could give it a name, we could make it interact with other objects in the room or we could simply look at it as a stand alone object.

Each story that came out of this exercise was beyond brilliant. One might think that each participant would have narrated their own stories through these objects (a fair assumption and possibility). Some did.

However, one thing to note is that most of us know our lives not as a story but as an emotion. I personally look at my life as a cluster of emotions orbiting around each other and around time. They are so tangible that I’ve drawn them on a sheet of paper and color-coded my emotions depending on the phase of my life.

This is what came out in the object exercise yesterday. We simply take a subset of this cluster and attach it to objects as we carve our narration. Before I knew it, bam! I’d found a new medium to express myself.

I am convinced that this isn’t any sugar coating. This is what I call my safe spot. I realized that over the past year in an attempt to get my message across to people whose ignorance frustrated me I only ended up being scarred.

I thought that the best gift I could give myself was the freedom to express. But last night I learnt that the best gift I could give myself is the freedom to say no to expressing my opinion when it gets too much for me.

To all the other writers out there, I want to say that things are bound to get intense. But, don’t let the darkness consume you to the extent that you forget to light the candles or worse, forget how to light the candles.

Find your safe spot.

Your message will eventually get through. However, the process is important. It needs to be both liberating and healing, don’t you agree?

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