I’  v e    a l w a y s    f e l t    l o n e l y,    e v e r    s i n c e    I    r e m e m b e r.

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When I’m older, I want to travel. See new places. Explore. I’d like to go around some unknown, untried corners. I’d like to walk around there by myself and not have to wear a watch. Sit, stare and observe in silence. Reflect, cogitate, question. Imagine, dream, discover.

It’ll be grand, won’t it?

One country. One city. One house. One school.

I’ve had enough of it all.

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1991---

I was born in June.

My dad almost died just before I was born - some fatal chemical reaction because of an expired tablet. They said his survival was a miracle. I was over a week old when he first saw me. 

1992

Soni was born in November. I was just a little over a year old.

1993

Soni’s mum, my aunt, went back to New York. Soni was barely two months old. I had a baby in my house. Yay!

A few days after Soni’s first b’day, Nani and Soni left for New York. I went to a crèche.

1994

Guddu was born in January.

I hated going to the crèche. Ma always lied to me saying she’d take me along with her and then even after all her assurances we would take that left turn. I remember that turn very well. That left turn.

Then I started going to some nursery school nearby. I would go when I felt like it, come back when I wanted to. Then I would stay in my neighbour’s house. Sumithra Aunty had no kids. She’d cook whatever I ordered for. “Mickey”, “Fishy”, or “Chicky” she would ask. I would sit on the dining table like a haughty, lil princess and choose. Uncle would get a gift for me everyday single day. Once he got me a steel glass with a straw fixed. Another day he got me a plastic dog with wheels attached. His brother killed a house fly once. I was SO impressed. I could never get hold of one how much ever I tried.

Then I went to school. How I loved the place when I first saw it. Contrary to what the other kids did, I didn’t cry on the first day of school. But my mum did. My parents wanted to drop me in school that day. I was excited about going in that school-auto. They told the auto driver to drop me till my classroom and they’d come later to meet me. When they walked into LKG. ‘A’ they couldn’t find me. They looked all over the school. They still couldn’t find me. They hunted for the auto driver. My dad threatened to kill him. But that didn’t help. He told my mum all this was her fault, she shouldn’t have sent me to a school so far away from home. But that didn’t help either. They went back to the Kindergarten to check again. They looked around once more. Some plump kid was sitting behind the window. My mum pulled it aside. I was sitting there alone nonchalantly eating and dropping biscuit dust all over my new uniform.  I liked this place!

I had only one friend in school. Monila. She was the first person to call for ME on my land-line. I remember wearing a yellow frock that day.

Then that night. I was wearing something pink that night. It was a Saturday. The first horrible memory etched in my mind. I should’ve stopped all that from happening. I didn’t. I still regret it.

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I AM A ROCK

- Simon and Garfunkel

A winters day
In a deep and dark december;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
Ive built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
Its laughter and its loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

Dont talk of love,
But Ive heard the words before;
Its sleeping in my memory.
I wont disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.

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I would stand behind Aunty’s gate in the evenings waiting for my mother and watch the ‘bigger’ kids play. I had presumed that they were my friends since I found no one else of my height. They would come over to give me chocolates. And they would pull my cheeks too. Twelve years later, they still do.

“When I’m big, I can play with them?”

“They will be bigger then, you’ll get other friends.”

“They will become bigger?”

“Yes, even you will become bigger.”

“Then I can play?”

“Yes, you can. You’ll have lots of friends then. How many friends do you want?”

“Full ten. Hum kal Cinderella jumble karenge aur Chicky khaenge.”

“English.”

“Uhh. Us will play Cinderella jumble and eat Chicky tomorrow.”

Then, during the end of that year, Nani came back with Soni and another ‘sister’. She also got LOTS of toys, dolls, chocolates. And books! She got SOO many books. Finally I had something new to read. I had got so bored of flipping through the gibberish India Today like magazines. These Disney books were more like it. And I had two playmates now.

I dunno why but I would still go to that crèche. Now my mum’s office was very close by. She would leave me there with a promise to ‘sign and come back’ to take me with her. I’d wait near the flag pole for hours sobbing uncontrollably. She’d never come. Those people would try to put me to sleep in the afternoon. Dark room. White bunk beds. White covers. I so detested that room. During the playing hour the ‘bigger’ kids there would go into the ‘playing room’ and play. They’d always lock me out. Then one day, one lil boy (who was as tall as I was) came up to me to ask why I was trying to see through the crack in the door. I said because I wanted to play with them too. He said he’ll play with me. Then we went and sat under a window ledge and played with those marbles he had. I never tried to go into the playing room again. Never again did they get a chance to lock me out.

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I always wondered how I could remember all this. Nobody remembers incidents that occurred when they were three of four, atleast not so vividly. There are so many other things I remember. I can’t type all of that here.

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1995

I was in the UKG. Soni would go to a nursery school wearing a brown uniform. Then two days after my birthday, my aunt returned from New York. She brought so many chocolates and games, toys, clothes, shoes and yes, more books!

Then Soni-Guddu left. They had a new home now.

Then again I remember another Saturday night. I was wearing a white tunic. I puked on the mattress that night. I didn’t try to help even this time. Again, I still regret it.

I wrote my first own, original ‘writing’ then. On a four-ruled sheet (purple and pink lines), which I had pulled out of my note-book, I wrote a letter. I remember mummy showing it around to her colleagues. I recall thinking that she was feeling very proud of me...Of course I didn’t know that the word ‘proud’ existed then.

----2007

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When I was 4-5-6 I would wonder why I didn’t have company like Soni and Guddu did. Whatever happened, how much they fought, how many ever times they’d beat each other up and wail and complain and all that, Soni would play with Guddu and Guddu with Soni. Of course they would play with me when we were together, but we weren’t always together. When we got board-games, we would play them whenever we were together. All the other times they would play with each other, I would play with myself. I learnt how to play Chess with myself, Snakes and ladders with myself, Monopoly with myself, Life with myself and later on even Uno with myself!

It almost seems as though ‘myself’ were an other person. Maybe ‘myself’ IS another person.

My mother never bought me Barbie dolls. I never even had stuff toys. My dad would buy lots of Gokulams and Champaks and Tinkles (never Tinkle Digest, because he said the print was too small) and colouring books and all that, but never Barbie dolls. I liked Barbie dolls. I would love dressing them up. Then my aunt bought me one. I would play with it for hours. I’d make up stories and make the other dolls, toys, bears enact them out. Love stories, terrorist attacks, travel stories, adventures, magic. Basically everything I had read about. My imagination was my best friend.

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I hated Saturdays. I always hated them. I still hate them.

I was and I am still scared of Saturdays.

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I should’ve never started bottling things up. I should’ve had a friend near home. I never spoke again once I had decided(unconsciously) to keep it all mum. I regret that too. I can never trust anybody completely. I can’t get myself too. I never say things directly. I just can’t. I wish to be understood without me saying anything. But that won’t happen without effort from my side. I can’t get myself to trust anybody. I just can’t.

When It comes to my friends I think I listen more than talk to them. I never tell them the kind of things they tell me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. I desperately wish they’d ask me sometimes, you know, persuade me into opening up a little. That never happens. I get a feeling they are a trifle scared of me. I am capable of being extremely curt and giving fierce looks. One look and people back off. I’m really good at pretending. But you’d never find out how good I am. That’s because I can very efficiently pretend to not be good at pretending.

I indulge in a lot of Interpersonal Communication (Go Wikipedia); to the extent of it being on the borderline of turning into a dangerous disorder. But then, I am my own best friend. I can agonize myself worse than anybody could ever do and cheer myself up better than anybody else could too. Maybe then I shouldn’t say that I feel lonely. I have ‘myself’, don’t I?

I’m SO full of paradoxes, contradictions, extremes. It’s like being an amalgam of two starkly different elements.

I am a total opposite of what I am.

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Today’s moody confession: 1] The first term of school this year was the worst time of school ever; full of such dirty, filthy things. I needed to take a day off today to put an end to it all. I needed to cleanse. Mummy did most of it for me. I knew she would, like she always did. I will have to start afresh from tomorrow. Yesterday was the zenith of all the disconcertment. I felt so dirty. Polluted. Soiled. I knew it would all fall today…after all it couldn’t get worse, could it? The day before yesterday was like heaven when compared to the rest of the maddening week. It felt so good. But I did nothing great that day. Eyeing it from the ‘fun’ point of view it pales in comparison with lots of other days. But it was a day that I’ll never forget. It was special in its own special way. A very special day. I still can’t figure out why though...I’ve been trying to solve it all and understand what made it so special but it’s not happening. Maybe I should just leave it. It’s perfect the way it is.

You ask what ‘it’?

I dunno. I really dunno.

*16^th August :

I am very red-in-the-facedly admitting that I’m still thinking about this whole thing and I have still not figured out stuff but then I realized  one other thing. Deepthi asked me the other day what my favourite part of the day was. I chose something randomly and then later last night I was thinking about it again. And no sooner did the thought enter my head, than I could see one umm flash or something.

After our great troop leader admonished  me for ‘staring’ with a brusque “Stop staring”, I felt like a primary school kid being rebuked for talking in class. So I turned in front and fidgeted with the knobs in the front for a while trying to increase the speaker’s volume, again to be notified but our troop leader that the knob controlled the temperature. Red-in-the-face again I turned to pretending-to-enjoy the view outside through the translucent curtain formed by the drizzling drizzle. And then suddenly I felt very nice. The whole ride felt very nice. The entire day felt very nice. The whole feel felt very nice. (Crappy English, but still..). then I put my head out of the window, face upwards. The soft drops on my face. It felt beautiful. Yes the kajal I was wearing and all that must’ve got smeared, but I didn’t think of that until I went home that day. Anyway getting back to the ‘feel’. It just felt very very nice and yes, beautiful.

Thank you, Troop leader. Thanks a LOT!

2] My mommy is the bestest.

I should be more considerate towards her.

I should stop accusing her.

She takes it all only for me.

I should be more tolerant.

She hasn’t got any other outlet to give vent to all that anger and frustration.

But atleast she’s got me as a punch-bag. I don’t even have that.

I want to stop reacting.

But then, I’m not a rock.

I’m weak.

 Im really getting lots of afterthoughts about this one(the first line under 2]).