Home-sick and Indelicate

  

I studied in an all-girls Indian Embassy school where almost all Indian nationals go. India is a very diverse country , having twenty-nine states and different cultures. The people in my classes used to be from different states and there were very few people who came from a similar city like me.  Such differences between my classmates did not divide us, instead we were all one. One of the friendships that I loved and envied at the same time was the one that existed between my elder sister and her friends. Apart from her , the other girls were from Hyderabad and Kerala. There was such an effortless bond between each member and all of their energies matched with each other. They were really good and I am rather glad she is still in touch with them.

School was great and enjoyable. I find it extremely embarrassing to admit it but I was not exactly intimidated by others as I am now. The bombastic , younger version of mine was rather loud , over-reactive and the interfering type. The student council in our school used to be selected with a lot of effort.  I wanted to be a perfect A student just so I could take part in Investiture Ceremony and wear a sash on my white, Saturday-only,uniform. I wanted to feel like a VIP for a day. Alas, I only got the side-jobs like the Assistant Class prefect in third grade and the class House Captain. The House Captains used to be responsible  for any group activities taking place in their classes so I used to be the head in deciding the parts in my house.  With the workload, I did enjoy the feel of the badge on my chest,though. When I shifted to my new school, my mind was blown at the fact that the Council would be chosen primarily by the students. I tried once, and ended up being the literal youngest person in the Council ( this was a year after we shifted and I still used to feel like an outsider then). 

But then in ninth grade, the rules changed and the teachers decided the members. I did not have any inclination to join after my fiasco last year as the Vice Captain of my house , but the teachers did. They had come up with new positions for each house that were called                  “ Assisitant Cordinators “.I had no idea what that meant but when the teachers wrote my name , I just shrugged and went with it since one of my best friends was given the post too. I thoroughly enjoyed the red badge against my chest again. We did our share of clownery too, like me almost laughing during the Oath at the ceremony or just me and her using our position to bunk classes and collect fine.

The transition period was definitely tough. As I think about it now, it wasn’t that easy to casually shift from one country to another. Add to it the fact that despite being a completely native speaker, we had difficulty fitting in with the rest of society. My mother would always tell us to be vigilant and to be aware of social cues. She would advise us to be clever and deft in handling tricky people but do you seriously think that advice to two, very unhinged, heartbroken, home-sick teenagers would work without any major complications?

You are right. It didn’t work smoothly.

The main issue was me: an overly naïve and brutally blunt person. Every time I think about those days when I used to still have difficulty getting used to my surroundings, my insides shrivel up with sheer embarrassment and annoyance over my dumb, younger self. I am very hard on myself and very closed-off to others to the point where you would automatically assume that I had absolutely no issues when I moved to another country. I know that learning something new will always lead to some mistakes but I never realized mistakes like the ones I committed with people could haunt me no matter how far I go. 

My failure in trying to be a good friend did help me to pick better people when I was in my second year of high school (that is pre –university first year) but I still can’t help but feel ashamed at myself. I had already started bottling up my emotions and had started to act as if I was happy to have moved here. All my relatives live in India and its practically a good thing for us but I still couldn’t find it in myself to stop missing the place that I had known for twelve years. The measures I took to fit in with the rest of my classmates were drastic. I almost never talked about my life there, pretended to not let the heat bother me (Air conditioners in classrooms are not a thing here due to electricity issues), tried to make friends without getting annoyed about childish quarrels and such. When I say social cues, I had zero awareness of the atmosphere. 

Imagine a twelve-year old girl being asked “Who is your best friend?” in a game of truth-or-dare and the girl lists out the name of the friend from her old school. It is expected to say the names of the people who asked you that question but I did not understand that and was brutally honest with them. The girl who asked me that still feels hurt to this day. My dear sister in religion and this world, how the hell do you expect me to read all that when my brain is clogged with pressures that you will probably never understand? 

Putting that aside, bad social encounters with people are not always one-sided so all these years, I used to point the finger at myself for not being at better terms with my friends. I blamed myself at first for being rude and irritable when I first came to the school. My first impression was a flop. I used to think that being plain, honest and helpful would help me make some headway in making friends but that tom-foolery backfired so bad, I almost regretted being a good person. I ended up being a door-mat for everyone ( it is my fault, of course ).

When a full month had passed at school, I fell sick due to the erratic weather and couldn’t attend school for a whole week. It dimly felt that all the jet lag and the stress of moving had come with the fever, delivering the worst sickness in that year. When mother took me to the doctor, he tested the condition of my lungs (I was coughing and wheezing a lot) with a series of mouth devices. I had no idea what was going on but when I saw my mother standing there, her eyes were red with worry. In the end, the doctor seemed satisfied and concluded that nothing is wrong and that it is just a flu. I ended up getting a dose of nebulization and that was it. Back in our apartment, drugged with cough syrups and fever pills, I had the most vivid dream of my old home. It felt real since I could practically smell the scent of my dear home, see our old rooms and such. The reality had only just sunk in when my eyes snapped awake and adjusted to the fan whirring above me. There was no air conditioner, there was no scent of my former home, there was nothing remotely similar to which I could call home. Poetry aside, the sadness hit me like a punch in the guts and I laid there on the bed, numb and heart-broken.

Another thing that put me off was when people suddenly needed to feel superior over us the second they heard that we came from a foreign country. I don’t have any recollection of this when I was in school but it caught my eye when I started eleventh standard.

During lunch break, I was sitting in the hall after finishing my food. A girl came up to me and said, “those are some nice shoes that you have! Where did you get them from?”.

I was wearing black slip-on sneakers which had a neon-pink line curving the ankle. My father had sent us these among other things so I had a profound attachment to it. Besides, it paired off really well with my navy blue pant and blazer.

“My dad sent me these”, I replied.

“Oh? You’re from the middle-east or something?”.

“Yes”, I said, not quite comfortable saying it.

There was a small pause. Then she said,” my uncle lives in the Gulf too and he sent me a pair of socks that are over 6000 rupees. I lost one of them, though.’’

Good for you, I thought vaguely. Also, why socks...?

When I rehashed the conversation to my sister, she said, “She was clearly bragging about that”.

“It may be true,” my mother conceded,” but you must never forget that you were practically born and brought up there”.

I was not bothered by the girl since I always tell myself to be accepting of other's short-comings. In fact, I was wondering why on Earth would she want socks from the Gulf since we live in boiling temperatures. She could have ordered traditional dresses since they are absolutely stunning.

It took me six years for the home-sickness to manifest within me and cause me to go into pieces. I was literally scrolling over Pinterest like a psychopath, going over Mediterranean Food Pins and the famous buildings. My heart broke even more when the picture of the holy Kaaba showed up as reality finally sunk in that it would be a long time before I could feel the cool, marbled tiles of Makkah again.