Love has always been a contradiction in my life. No, I'm not talking about the mild fancy that flares up inside you when your classmate gives you a compliment, or the familial affection you come to feel as you grow, but passion, the kind that makes your burns through your veins, makes your heart race, and consumes your thoughts; that reduces you to a simple creature guided by emotion.
My siblings are I were forbidden to date. Love was a sickness we had to stay away from until we were old enough to marry. It wasn't just my family who thought like that. All 'grown-ups' in my community followed the same rules.
"There's a time for everything," they said. "You can fall in love when you're older, after you get married." They always made sure to say after, since it was a well established custom that people whose marriages weren't arranged by their parents were a disgrace to their families.
I found love contradictory because of the stories. As strict as the grown-ups were against love, ironically they loved love stories, whether they were presented in movies, songs, or literature.
For something that was supposedly taboo, love was a thoroughly discussed topic. The grown-ups called it a plague, a disease, but in most stories, it was the purpose of life, and the key to ultimate happiness.I couldn't speak for my siblings, but I personally didn't mind not being allowed to date. The boys in my class were all idiots, not to mention gross. Besides, I didn't have time as I was busy doing what only few thirteen-year-olds liked to do: reading.
As someone who loved stories with a passion, I had watched and read my fair share of romance. Barbie had Ken, and the princesses in fairytales always found a prince by the end. Even Ron and Hermione fell for each other. Despite my obsession with these characters, I didn't have a curious bone in my body that made me wonder what it was like to fall in love.
However, that was soon about to be changed...
It happened a few weeks after I got my first period. It was an ordinary day at school. The teacher wasn't around, so the students were causing a ruckus. The boys had gathered over the back seat and stacked their palms together, to play the barbarian game of Red Hand. Shrieks of pain and delight followed.
Their excitement had attracted the attention of a few girls as well. They buzzed around the guys, cheering for their friends and boyfriends. Technically, those kids weren't allowed to date either, not by their parents or the school, and so they did it in secret. These were the kids that were branded as 'loose' in our community, because they constantly lied to their families, having no regard for their parent's reputation.
I noticed one of the guys wrapping an arm around his girlfriend, and immediately looked away.
"Hey, Natasha, did you see that?" My friend Maria asked, walking over to my bench. "How shameless can they be?"
"I know," I nodded. "They're aren't even scared they'll get caught." It was scary how well the loose kids lied, because most of them got away with being loose. They were careful not to get caught.
The faint echo of multiple approaching footsteps interrupted my thoughts, and I whipped my head as the door swung open. Students of section B of seventh grade rushed into the class, and pretty soon, the room was packed. Maria moved to sit next to me.
Mrs. Banerjee eventually followed, and plopped down on her chair. "Students," she began. "Mr. Singh has suddenly resigned. Until we find a replacement, both sections of seventh grade will be merged."
There was a collective groan from the students. Mrs. Banerjee ignored it, and announced a pop quiz. There was an even louder groan, but this time I didn't join in as I was well prepared.
Once the revision time was up, Mrs Banerjee strolled through the room, making sure no one had conveniently forgotten to put the textbook away. Tense silence followed, as she prowled for questions.
"How to mix two immixable liquids?"
I shot my hand up. Mrs. Banerjee's eyes lazily scanned the room, probably to instill fear in the other students that they would get picked."Siddharth," she finally called out.
I frowned and noticed another hand protruding upward on the other side of the room. The boy, to whom it belonged, stood up to answer. He had a lanky built, dark complexion, and clear, kind eyes. His face was totally unfamiliar.
"Hey, is he a newcomer?" I muttered to Maria.
"You don't know Siddharth?" She narrowed her eyes. "He's been here since fourth grade, and is one of the top students of his section. Everyone knows him."
I frowned, looking at him as he answered Mrs. Banerjee's question. How had I never seen him before? I was usually quite observant. I tried focusing back on the class. Mrs. Banerjee asked another question, and I was quick to raise my hand again.
"Natasha," she called.
I rose to my feat, and repeated the question in my mind. As the words registered to me, cold sweat broke my body. I was distracted by that boy, and I stupidly raised my hand, too overconfident to reaffirm the question. The result was this: dozens of eyes upon me, expectant. I looked down.
Mrs. Banerjee gave me a deadpan look. "Why did you raise your hand if you don't know the answer?"
I didn't respond, and it finally came, the laughter. Delighted and cruel chorus of cackles at the expense of my dignity. I peered up, and noted that even my friends had joined in, amused at my humiliation.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I glared at the boy who had been the cause of my distraction, and our eyes met. I was quite shocked to see that he wasn't laughing. In fact, he was slightly frowning, looking directly at me. There was no trace of mockery on his face. It wasn't pity either. Was it... concern?
"Keep standing," Mrs. Banerjee snapped at me, and moved on to the next question. I knew that one, and the one after that, but I didn't dare raise my hand again after my epic failure. That gave Siddharth the chance to answer most of the questions. He was an eloquent speaker, and his answers were concise and descriptive. What made me envious was the fact that his fluency in English was almost as good as mine, despite it being our second language. Unlike the majority of the students, he wasn't repeating the memorized textbook answers, but using his own words. Like me.
I wondered how I hadn't seen him before, specially since we were so much alike. I knew the girls of his section because of mutual friends, and as for the guys, I had seen them roaming the hallways during recess, being loud and obnoxious, but not him. Was he different? He certainly seemed like it. Although he was sitting with the aforementioned guys, he had a different air to him entirely. The aura of an intellectual. For the first time in my life, I was actually interested in talking to a boy.
I didn't need to deal with the hassle of mustering up my courage to approach him, because as the class came to its end, he came to me himself.
"Natasha, are you okay?" Those were the first words he ever spoke to me.
"I... how do you know my name?"
"Ms. Khan keeps praising you in her classes. She says you're quite good when it comes to English."
I had heard similar words many times, but hearing it from him made me blush.
"Um... yeah! You're... not so bad yourself." My voice came out unusually shrill. What was wrong with me?
"I've been practicing communicating in English. Do you have any pointers?"
"I just... read a lot."
"Oh, cool."
As I was about to respond, the math teacher entered, and Siddhart waved to me before rushing back to his own bench.
***
I wondered what it was about Siddhart that reduced me to a blubbering idiot. For some reason, I seemed to care of his impression of me, and ironically, that only made me act worse. I didn't get a chance to talk to him again in the following weeks.
Somehow, the idea made me... nervous. Which was weird since I normally couldn't care less what guys thought of me. It was something only the loose girls did.
However, I eventually convinced myself that I was nervous because I saw him as a competitor, and there was nothing wrong with having a friendly chat with an academic rival. As long as I didn't have indecent motives, which I had to repeat to myself that I didn't.
Whenever I dared to go near him, he was surrounded by his guy friends, and approaching the whole group seemed more daunting. All I could do was observe him.
Others might have found my behavior odd and unusual, but I couldn't explain my urge to learn everything about him. I tried asking my sister for advice about a 'friend' who couldn't stop thinking about this guy, but she chalked it up as puberty. I didn't understand her.
Since we couldn't speak, I kept an eye on Siddharth, and it turned out that Maria was right. He was a good student, but unlike me, he also had a thriving social life. His peers looked up to him and respected him. He was exactly how I wanted to be. More than that, he was someone I wanted to befriend.
I had expected never to get the chance to talk to him again since it was proving to be so difficult, but one random morning, on my way home from school, I saw him. He emerged from a stationary shop, and I froze, the moment he laid eyes on me. I felt caught, as if he could read my mind and know how I had spent the last few months obsessing over him.
He instead walked over to me nonchalantly, and gave me his boyish smile, the sight of which stirred something within me. "Hi."
"Hi, Siddharth!" Apparently, the shrill and rattled version of me was back. Perfect!
"Call me Sid."
"Okay." Only his friends called him that. I fought back a grin.
"On your way home?"
I nodded, and then timidly asked, "Wanna walk together?"
"Sure."
We ambled through the street, walking side by side, as I racked my brain to come up with something to say. In the end, I settled for asking him about his studies and he asked about mine. The topics varied from our day to the upcoming history test, before abruptly ending as he had to take a turn. I waved him goodbye.
It was probably a mundane conversation for him, but it still ended up being the highlight of my day. I'd find myself replaying it in my head in the days to come.
***
When I came home that day, the first thing I did was look in the mirror. Since my run-in with Sid, I wanted to make sure I didn't look too bad. The result was a lot worse than I anticipated. I was sweaty and gross, and my hair had turned into a mess. The fact that Sid had seen me like this made my heart drop. I flinched, picturing his eyes on me, the very thing that had made me smile a few minutes ago.
The next morning, I woke up earlier than usual to fix my hair, so it would remain secure throughout the day. Once I was ready, I looked at my reflection carefully and sighed. I had always known I wasn't beautiful, but there was something worse. Something that couldn't be fixed. My cheeks were too chubby, my eyes too small, and my hair too wild. A realization struck me, and I was shocked I hadn't seen it before. Now that I had, this knowledge would haunt me for the rest of my days.I was ugly.
Looking in the mirror became a challenge, but I still did it every morning, putting more effort to salvage what was possible. It was a losing battle, though. My anxiety grew worse by the day, but there was nothing I could do. My confidence began to dwindle, leaving me empty.Despite everything, I still couldn't get Sid off my mind. I was beginning to get a grasp of this feeling that was making me go crazy, but I didn't dare put a label on it, or I would be forced to confront it, forced to admit that what I was doing was a shameful thing, and could result in me getting branded a loose girl.
I didn't have the heart to deny it, but I didn't have the guts to acknowledge it either, as that would be defying my parents. So, for the time being, I let it fester.
***
I had known all along that I wouldn't be able to ignore my feelings forever, but I still tried to stretch that moment as far away as possible. However, luck wasn't on my side. It came three days later.
Final exams were just around the corner, and everyone was busy cramming. During the physics class, our teacher, Mr. Kumar, told us to study the lessons quietly, and for those students who had already completed the syllabus, he pulled out a practice paper.
"Who's ready to solve this?" He asked, waving the paper in his hand.
I jumped up to my feet at the same time as Sid, and we shared a smile.
"There's an empty seat back there," Mr. Kumar said. "You two can do it together."
Thus began the best two hours of my life. We talked, we laughed, we discussed our future aspirations, and even confided in each other the mutual worry of exams.
He was explaining to me the function of lightening conductors, when our fingers slightly brushed while reaching for the eraser. He pulled his hand back. My heart began to race so loud that I was scared he'd hear. I could no longer ignore the elephant in the room. This feeling I had in me, it was eerily similar to the L-word. Before I could decide to dissolve in shame or shout it from the rooftops, I needed confirmation.
***
Since it was such a taboo topic, I had no choice but to refer to my novels. I opened the specific pages where the moment of realization occurred. I remembered how I used to gag at those scenes, but now I could only relate. The answer I had been looking for was staring stark in my face: I was in love. It was the only explanation.
The epiphany caused me to be shocked and elated and horrified, all at the same time. The amalgamation of contradictory emotions made me physically sick, and I felt like throwing up. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't date Sid, and lie to my parents. Even if I could, I had no clue if he felt the same. I couldn't just ignore this revelation either, when Sid's presence made me squirm, and his absence made me long for him, to the point that my chest would ache. I couldn't ask any adults for advice either, as they would never understand my feelings. They would only call me shameless.
A couple weeks later, I got the confirmation I needed without any assistance. It happened during the last day of the finals. I hadn't seen Sid for a while. However, on that particular day, as I exited the school, I saw him waiting outside.
My pulse quickened at the sight of him.
"Natasha," he approached me, and I tried not to show how thrilled I was.
"Sid, what's up?"
"I have excellent news," he grinned. "I happened to look inside Mrs Banerjee's locker, and there were marked physics exam sheets there. Yours was on the top. I happened to peek, and turned out you had a perfect score!"
It swelled my heart that he was happy on my behalf. Maybe there was a chance he could like me back. I had given up all hope when I realized how ugly I was, but maybe it wasn't a lost cause. Aloud I said, "that's amazing! Thanks for letting me know."
"Congrats!" he offered me his hand to shake.
I hesitated, remembering how his touch had affected me last time, but I had no choice as he stood waiting, his hand extended.
I shook it.
As our palms brushed against each other, heat melded there and blossomed into my chest. My heart raced. Sparks came to life where our skins rested together, and raced throughout me in the form of chills. Like the blood flowing in my veins, or electricity in a chord.
I had read about love being compared to lightening, but I had always believed it to be an exaggeration. Now, however, as I stood there, with his hand in mine, I realized, there was no other way to describe it. It was current, full of charges and heat, speeding within me. Only it didn't hurt me, instead, it woke each and every cell in my body. Craving for something I didn't quite understand.If there was any doubt in me before, it was gone now. I was hopelessly in love with Siddharth. And I made up my mind to confess.
***
Love was beautiful, that's what the stories had taught me. Love was excitement, it was laughter. Sometimes, it was tears, but once you tasted it, you wouldn't mind them, because no matter how ugly the pain was, it was worth the smiles and the joy.
I couldn't rely on my parents or any other grown-up to shed more light on the matter, so the stories had to be enough. Besides, I was so hooked on it, that the fear of my parents, or relatives, and even the risk of being branded loose seemed inconsequential.
What I had planned would be considered bold even from those extroverted kids. For a wallflower like me, it was downright stupid. I wrote a letter. A letter where I laid my heart bare for Sid to see. Where I tried my best to put these feeling into words. I sealed it with a sticker, and put it away until the new session began.When the awaited day finally arrived, and our sections were divided again, I snuck into his class during assembly, and hid the letter in his bag.
***
The rest of the day was a blur, as I pretended to pay attention in class. I had written to Sid to meet me outside after school, but that meant I had to wait for school to be over first. Those were the longest hours of my life.
Time slowed to the pace of a slug, and the day dragged on and on. The anticipation alone killed me.
At last, the recess bell rang, and I got up from my seat to grab lunch. On my way to the canteen, I saw the group of guys from Sid's class, hollering out loud. My first instinct was to hide, but since he wasn't with them, I didn't bother. As I was walking away, one of the guys noticed me and he nudged to his friends. They all stared at me, before breaking into uncontrollable laughter.
Dread took over me. Did they know? No, they were just being silly as always. I ignored the sense of foreboding inside me and kept walking, but the guys trailed me. Some of them made kissing noises, while others sang romantic songs.My anxiety grew worse and my pace quickened.
They must have accidentally seen the letter in Sid's bag, I told myself. They were only acting this way because he was not with them, or they wouldn't dare.
"I love you, Raj," one of the boys- walking right behind me-said to his friend. "Don't you love me?"
His friend laughed. "Of course, I looovvveee you."
I fought back tears, but they still made it out somehow. I wiped them from my sleeve, and ran back to class, barely containing myself from breaking into a sob. When I got there, I saw Mrs. Banerjee waiting at the door with a stern look on her face."Natasha, come with me."
No! It had to be for something else! No! Sid would not do that to me. If he didn't like me, he could've simple rejected me. He wouldn't involve the teachers, would he?
As I thought about it, it suddenly occurred to me that there was a small possibility. Since being branded loose was such a big deal among the adults in our community, some kids took it upon themselves to reveal the affairs of others. I still couldn't bring myself to believe that Sid would go that far. I was soon proven wrong.
Mrs. Banerjee took me to one of the empty classrooms, before waving the letter in her hand. My letter. "What is this, Natasha? I never expected you to turn out like this! Explain yourself."
"I..." I pinched myself, hoping to wake up from this nightmare, but I was living it. What was I supposed to say? Sid hadn't just rejected me, he had destroyed my reputation, and branded me a loose girl in front of the entire school. For what? Because I happened to like him?
Bile rose in my throat, and despair settled in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't stand still. Adrenaline coursed through me, making my heart drum against my chest. I wiped the beads of sweat collected at my temples.
When Mrs. Banerjee prompted me further, I mumbled out an excuse that it was a prank, and that I thought it would be fun to mess with Sid. I was too much of a coward to own up to the truth. She dismissed me, saying she'll talk to my parents. I begged her to give the letter back. She didn't.
***
That day, as soon as I got home, I blocked the entire school staff from the phones of my parents. I hoped against hope that they wouldn't find out, but I was only delaying the inevitable.
For the next week, I faked being sick so I wouldn't have to go to school, but eventually my mother caught on, and she forced me to go. She didn't ask why I didn't want to go. She just handed me my bag, and pointed at the door.
Anxiety kept weighing me down with each step, and the tears wouldn't stop. I waited outside the school for half an hour, so I wouldn't have to attend the assembly, where I could run into Sid. It was still hard to believe that he could do something so cruel. For the past week, I had been thinking of excuses on his behalf. Maybe the letter slipped from his hand, and the teacher saw it. Or maybe, one of his friends found the letter first and gave it to the teacher before telling him.It was absurd that I still cared, when it was over.
I was late, but I finally made it to class. Like the ripping of a band-aid, I trudged inside. Silence spread through the room like plague.
Everyone looked at me, and from their expressions, I could tell, they knew. Each and every one of them.I noticed that my seat was taken, and when I asked the girl who occupied it to move, she pretended not to hear me.
"Sit at the back," the teacher said. "You will sit there from now on."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"But I sit with Maria-"
"Go!"
I flinched. The other kids looked at me with disgust, and some with pity. Even those kids who had relationships of their own wouldn't dare associate with me in the fear of being branded loose themselves, despite their sympathies. It was way worse than I expected.
I had to wait for the class to end, before I could approach Maria. When I did, she ignored me too, as if I was nothing more than a bug. I tried asking others what was going on, but no one responded. When one of the girls took pity on me, she discreetly told me that the teacher had ordered the class not to talk to me, and the prefects were keeping an eye out.
I gaped at her. I had expected whispers, hatred and maybe even disgust, but not total boycott! How was I supposed to move on if they wouldn't let me forget? I thought it was the worst, but this was just the beginning.
When I went to the canteen, I felt each and every pair of eyes stick to me like glue. And then the whispers came. Those horrible buzzing sounds. I could hear them everywhere I went. Even the juniors seemed to know about me. It was bound to happen, since the teachers were involved.
If it had been for a day, I would've managed to bear it. If it had been for a week, I might have been able to power through it, but it lasted for months. By the time it would end, I would have forgotten how to smile.
School became a haven, when my parents found out. The teachers eventually found a way to contact them, and what followed was months of abusive taunts from my entire family. I was a characterless girl with no morals, and they wouldn't let me forget it for a long time. They didn't allow me to step out of the house without supervision anymore.
"How long will you keep punishing me?" I asked them.
"You've broken our trust," my father said. "It's like shattered glass, or a crumpled paper. There's no fixing it."I cried myself to sleep every other night, thinking that maybe my parents were right. Maybe love really was a disease.
Then why did they rebuke me for being sick? Why was falling in love such a sin? Why did the stories misled me to believe that love was something pure, and if it was truly that bad, why were the grown-ups allowed to do it?The questions reverberated in my mind one after the other, but there was no one to answer them. I would figure them out on my own, as I'd continue to grow, that what I felt for Siddharth was just a silly crush, a result of puberty as my sister had said. The craving of my body which I had mistaken for love, was actually a symptom of basic biology.
The answers may come, but there was no one to say them, when I needed to hear them the most. The words would help for a while, but they wouldn't dampen the trauma or the pain of the incident, the memory of which continues to haunt me to this day.