Forced Friendships

Tenzin once decided that Deepti should be our friend. To that end, she announced to us one night after dinner that we were all supposed to drop whatever we were doing and go to Deepti’s room to help her with her NSS decorations. We had no idea who Deepti was. Which was not entirely strange considering that Deepti was in Journo and the rest of us were in Sociology, English and History. Since we were not exactly the ECA kids, we barely ventured out of our immediate circles and didn’t know people from other departments very much. Our initial bond was North-east, college course and Harry Potter; outside of that, we made very less new friends.

On a tangent, Harry Potter was how I made friends with a good number of kids in college. I remember standing with the other freshers outside the LSR Audi for Orientation and discussing with Lima (who I knew from school) the new book which was about to come out. More people heard us talk and joined in and we just sort of bonded. Tenzin, included.

Anyhoo, returning to the main topic, Deepti was very surprised to see Tenzin at her door that night. Which was nothing compared to her surprise seeing myself, Mamu, Gunjan, Atula, Amebari and Mehak standing behind Tenzin. She didn’t know us. We didn’t know her. She and Tenzin barely knew each other from class. But Tenzin, ever the dazzling networker, shamelessly invited herself – and us – in and made herself at home. We helped Deepti make decorations for Diwali fest and we were fascinated by her wit and the sharpness of her brain! 

That was when we understood why Tenzin wanted her to be our friend. Deepti was brilliant. She talked in full sentences with proper grammar and every word was enunciated to their full effect. It was like talking to a BBC correspondent, which I believe she wanted to be when she got out of college. Or a war correspondent. Or something similarly grave but necessitating intelligence higher than the ordinary mortal would likely have.

Deepti never really became a close friend. She was a lone wolf. I suppose it also went with her whole aesthetics and her general ambition. But after that night, we would often find ourselves going to her for advice – from what newspaper to take to what internet dongle to purchase. And always we’d come back to our rooms, marvelling at the things she said and asking each other: what do you think Deepti meant when she said this? She knew some really big words but she used them so efficiently that they never seemed to be pretentious coming from her. She used all of them right.

On her part, Deepti always made time for us, even when we asked her the sort of questions that might appear to her like: what do you think one plus one equals to? She was always patient with us and would often repeat instructions. 

Deepti also agreed to tell her father to tell the then Prime Minister of Japan Shinzo Abe that a group of girls in LSR thought he was hot. I forget what her father did. But she mentioned to us once and whatever politics she was trying to explain to us got lost in the tidbit of information that was: Deepti’s father talks to Shinzo Abe! We bugged her till she promised to relay that information to her dad.

Deepti’s brand of humour did not often coincide with ours. I remember one time she and Tenzin were jaywalking and Tenzin joked that some policeman was going to come arrest them. Deepti looked at her and said, and I quote: Your understanding of the Indian legal system baffles me. Or the time Tenzin and she were on an auto and a beggar woman threatened them with the old “If you don’t give me money, your husband will die!” ultimatum. Deepti looked at her square in the eye and said: That’s his problem, not mine. I wonder what her future husband would think of that. I still chuckle over it.

Of all the things Tenzin forced on us – and she imposed a lot of things on us – Deepti’s friendship was among the best. I mean Tenzin was the woman who came back from some party one night, flung open the door and declared: We hate Shefali! Or some other such name. We agreed because we had no idea who Shefali was and it was not out of our way to hate this unknown chick who had wronged Tenzin.

If we were the HIMYM people, Tenzin would definitely be Barney Stinson. She was crazy and we’d just go along with her craziness. But sometimes she’d settle down for our mundane too. Like how we got her to eat meat purchased directly from a butcher. As a loose-practising Buddhist, she’d never really eaten meat from a source she could identify. She preferred to have her meat highly processed and coming from a freezer. She felt better about meat that way. It is interesting what we take away from each other as friends.

She was always a social butterfly and it was not exactly natural to be our friend. But she was always loyal and non-judgmental, even when nothing about our lives was remotely the same. Or even similar-esque. I liken us most to the grandparents in Willy Wonka, in our beds in the residence hall, eating momos in our PJs, and Tenzin as Charlie who would go visit the chocolate factory! We were there for her to come home to.

Tenzin is in Paris now. I have no idea where Deepti is. The rest of the gang is scattered too. College is now a distant memory, if fond. I believe I learned this from Tenzin best – that if I wanted someone to be my friend, I could just walk up to them, introduce myself and invite myself in their lives. I’ve done it too. And I have a sneaky suspicion I’m in the process again even as I type this.

Thanks, Tenzin.

I Met Hockey Girls

I hid from Sports my whole academic life. In school, because I was always thin and athletically built, everyone always assumed I could do sports. I couldn’t. Still can’t. Even in college, when Mamu and I joined NSO as a last resort because it didn’t work out for NSS and NCC for us, I still couldn’t do Sports. We did aerobics instead. We’d wake up early and jump around to Get Down by the Backstreet Boys long after they were no longer popular. And during the Sports meet, we were on ball duty for tennis and we got hit by stray balls and they took pity on us and told us to go stand at the archery section. I don’t remember if we did. I think we didn’t and we just bunked off, because if a ball could hit us and it hurt, it would hurt a lot worse with the archery gang.

I don’t even like Quidditch in Potterverse. I also don’t like Krikkit in Guide-verse, although I don’t think anyone really likes Krikkits in any part of the universe. The feeling is mutual, though, so no love lost.

What I like is stories. I have always loved stories. People assume often that I like reading. This is only partly true. I like reading stories. I also like watching stories. Or listening to stories. Sometimes that last bit is also called gossiping but I like that too, especially when the tea is hot and it is served well with a good side dish. And I am not on the menu, thank you.

Which is a very self-absorbed way of talking about the hockey team I met today. They looked like they’re five but they were state champions! Apparently it was not a full team or something and they played on a smaller field with lesser people on the team. I don’t know how many people are on a hockey team and how the scoring system is and what merits a penalty. I don’t even know for how long a game lasts.

What I knew was that they were troopers! They were already doing things with their lives that they liked and enjoyed doing! At their age, I was studying and/or indulging in tomfoolery. It was not because I liked studying but the fear of the Lord and of the parents had been instilled in me long ago and I had been brainwashed into thinking good grades proved that I was a good girl, much like a Protestant puritan during Max Weber’s time. But these kids were doing something they liked and doing it as a team! I only learned the deep-rooted benefits of teamwork as an adult; they already got it. I think Sports does this easiest and best. No wonder I didn’t learn it until much later.

They had so much discipline and I really liked that. They looked nice and no-nonsense, but chilled. I could tell they were bored with the endless speeches by the end but the fidgeting was truly kept to the very barest of minimums. I wanted to see if they cracked so I kept my phone away as well to see if I could match their non-fidgeting. I cracked before they did. They had this aura of quiet confidence that is lacking even in adults, even in adults who are leaders. So many times, arrogance is used as a mask for confidence when really, they’re not the same at all. These kids had this really cool, calm confidence that only Sports can give, I think; or maybe offer it easiest. I am quite sure it won’t translate to all other areas of life, but to have this nook that you can turn to that gives you endorphin high while boosting your health and your sense of self? Very good for Sports.

For an active person, it is surprising that I don’t like sports very much. Or at all. I admire the discipline, but I am too ill-coordinated. And sports doesn’t have very nice stories. They have very inspiring ones but those tend to make me feel less than, and not beget me to push myself further or those nice things. I am not well.

The girls were very young. And luckily for them, this is a young district. I hope that they will become trailblazers for others in the years ahead. They have that potential. I hope they keep at it and can make a living out of hockey. And I hope that if not, they will always remember this rush and this championship and the memory of it will produce the brightest and strongest Patronus for them.

I really don’t know anything about hockey. My mother used to play when she was a girl. And she said that one of the girls would wear a long skirt when she played goalkeeper and that was not very fair because when she stood with her feet apart, her skirt acted like a giant impenetrable net. I think I agree with her.

The Oldest I Have Ever Been

I was eleven/twelve when I studied in the seventh grade. I was a little Hermione Granger, sticking to two close friends, a big time know-it-all and a teacher’s pet. And usually the class topper. Not many people liked me. Perhaps that has not changed overmuch but that’s a different muse altogether. It is very little wonder that I identified very strongly to Granger when I first came across Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets the following year aged thirteen.

In any case, I was in Mary Mount School, Tlangnuam at the time. I am ancient so the school infrastructure was nothing like it is today. But imagine, if you will, a place where Boss Kids aka Seventh Graders stood menacingly and intimidatingly while the smaller kids played around them. That was where Baby Zothansiami and Lalnunpuii and I were one day at recess. 

(It is customary in middle school and lower to know your friends' full names. You habitually call them by it, as well. A habit we lose in later years. Something about formative years and absorbing all the knowledge you can? Followed by a period when you just sort of give up, of course. I should check into this.)

I had two younger siblings in MMS. However, we never interacted during school hours. It was standard practice to pretend that we alone were representing our Family in this lawless land of middle school.

That fateful day, my little sister approached the three of us chilling in our spot. She was in tears. She told us a boy in her class had been mean to her. His name was H Vanlalchhanhima. We had the name. So we went to teach the mean boy a lesson. I don’t remember exactly what we did but in the Serengeti of prepubescent children where we were the lions and the littler kids were the zebras, I’m sure we weren’t nice.

But I was a Big Sister. So I did what I felt I had to do. Plus, at that time, I was the best and worst version of myself. At eleven, I knew everything. I was everything. I could do everything. Insufferable beanstalk of a human, yes, but I got shit done. 

I’ve never been that confident again. I mean I did learn to faff again in LSR and got into the whole Kardashian vibe of seeming like you knew shit when in reality, there’s not a lot of substance to you at all. I attended JNU, too; call it a booster shot. But those are all learned so they’re often slower than reflex. My Go-To these days is: I don’t know shit.

If Eleven YO Me could interact with me, she’d be so disappointed.

The Book Dragon

My mother always bought me books I wanted to read. Mostly those were comic books and fairy tales when I was younger.

One time we were in a toy store and I was arguing with my mum and lowkey throwing a tantrum over a doll and a Karen nearby snapped at my mum saying if she kept indulging me, I’d never learn. I was getting really worked up but then my mum said, I never had a mother buy me things so I like to buy my kids what they like if I can. I have never thrown a tantrum over things I like for her to buy for me again. The comment was not even thrown at me but the memory is clear and unblemished even today.

Books were a different story altogether. My parents both have a holy respect for all books. Which was why before I had my own money, if I wanted a book, it is more accurate to say I demanded it of them rather than asked. I even had my dad stand in line with me in Lajpat Nagar for Harry Potter 4 when it came out. They didn’t care what we read as long as we read. Which was, again, how I was reading Mills & Boons romances aged eleven. That was not too bad because the stories were formulaic and I lost interest in a few years. What stuck was Dr Faustus that I read aged 10 or 11 and even today I feel like Mephistopheles is a real demonic name and I am very afraid of word contracts and how that can be bonding with the paranormal creatures. That book taught me not to sell my soul to the devil. Very creepy business. I facepalmed when I watched Jabez Stone do exactly that in Shortcut to Happiness, and even as I laughed at Brendan Fraser’s Elliot Richardson do the same in Bedazzled, I was thinking: ya, no, that’s dumb.

I digress. Books.

There have been few times when my mother was lowkey concerned over the material I was consuming. The first was J K Rowling’s Harry Potter series but when we discussed that, I said: I read about witches all the time, this isn’t any different. So she let it slide. The second was Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code. That was understandable. People were protesting the book. Some had even burnt it. I remember a girl in my Christian school boarding emphatically declare: Dan Brown is going to hell. Back home, when my mother brought it up, I told her about the amazing historical nuggets that were in the book divorced of the fiction. She let it slide again. The third was Salman Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses. I said, this Satan is the Muslim one, not ours. She let it slide a third time.

We’ve not discussed banned books again post Satanic Verses. I don’t really know why. Maybe because by then, I was hardly home. And when I was home, I was not reading as many books as I used to. I’d discovered MTV, basically. Also, on the book front, we’d come to an understanding. I do an annual re-read of the Bible. As long as I do this, I think she has made her peace with my other consumption. As well, some of my books are in my kindle. And she doesn’t know their titles.

I don’t enjoy sharing my books with people because when it comes to books, I really am like a dragon hoarding her treasures. Not for nothing do I make thebookdragon my social media alias. There are books in my library (fondly named The Bookarium) in Leitan that I’ve haggled over, some I’ve fought strangers for, some I’ve broken my back hauling them all over Delhi for, and some I’ve straight out stolen. I jealously guard them. I don’t intend to share. There is even an author I refuse to share. I discovered this author quite by chance in a little forgotten nook in Defence Colony when U Rinpuii had asked Atu and I to return a book (it might have been a DVD) she had borrowed. Atu and I delight over it but this book series is between her, me and the books. Sometimes people ruin things when they find things out.

They really do.

Harry Potter And The Manipur Video

There was a scene after the Quidditch World Cup (where Bulgaria caught the Snitch but Ireland won the match, that one? And now that we’re all caught up…) where the Golden Trio was busy celebrating Krum’s victory when all of a sudden, they heard sounds that were less celebratory and much more sinister. And of course, they went out to investigate.

This was when they saw a group of hooded, masked figures, marching in a tight cluster for pack solidarity and mob courage. Above them were four Muggles, floating along atop their pack, being dragged and controlled by invisible strings. The hooded figures jeered. Then one of them flipped the woman and “her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers, she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee.”

The first time I read this passage, it made me deeply uncomfortable although aside from the indignity and the violence, I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was that made me fearful. They acted out that scene in the movie as well and again, it made me frightened. But because it was an act of war, violence and humiliation, I again thought yes, probably this is why I hate this act because it is about war.

When the viral video from Manipur surfaced with two women stripped naked and paraded by a mob of leering men, I immediately realized why that scene had always been so impactful to me even though I couldn’t explain it. I never even watched the video; I just saw a screenshot of it and I would have been happy living my whole life never having even seen that screenshot.

This was the reason: it was what it symbolized. It was about degradation. Humiliation. An act of war designed to bring shame and ignominy to an entire group of people through a symbol. And that symbol was the repository of culture – women. I have always maintained that it is unfortunate and a crack in patriarchy that women’s bodies are always seen as vessels of culture although women have little to no claims to a culture. This time too, men were killed and violent words were proclaimed. But it was women the mob chose to strip naked and force to go through such public shame as no human ever should. The whole incident was designed to humiliate Kukis as a whole; it was not about the two women who actually bore the burden. It would appear that the first Arrest told his mother that he didn’t do it for his own sake, he had done it for his community. It was probably true, and this is what frightens me so much.

Women’s bodies cannot continue to be seen as simple gratification for men and unproblematic display for identity. Even on good days, no one thinks twice about commenting on women’s bodies, even to go so far as making sexually coloured statements and “jokes”. The problem with this line of thinking is that the moment it ceases to be a “good day”, the same line of thinking turns brutal and perverted and the first call of action becomes, in one word, rape.

Many times we have noticed, especially in 2012 Nirbhaya’s case, that rape is much less about sexual attraction than it is a display of power. It is simply to “put someone in their place”. Sometimes, that is a woman. Sometimes, that is women. Sometimes, that is a community.

What agitates me so much about Manipur this time is the news that mothers were instigating their sons to rape women. What does it matter that these other women were from a community they resented? We always make calls to treat women as human hence respect them too, yes, but this time these women didn’t even seem to think about the simpler thought process: Women are women, like I am. Such blatant lack of empathy is utterly terrifying for me to wrap my head around.

Most times, we are conditioned to think in terms of Us vs. Them. We do it in varying degrees. And I know one day soon, we shall forget this lesson again. It is too much to hope that it shall never happen again. But I hope it sticks longer this time and we do not need reminders again anytime soon.

The scene from Goblet of Fire was Wizard Nazis reminding other wizards they were still around, still active and very much still capable of inflicting torture on Muggles and their supporters. They were reminding people that the war was still very much on. JKR is incredible for writing these scenes that come back to mind years after the story has been completed. The layers are so real and they remain impactful. These Calls are always about principles and basic human decency – stand up for others whenever you can whenever they need your support and help. People may not be Our Group but we have to learn to remember our humanity in the face of Societal Differences.

As Kingsley Shacklebolt said in HP & The Order of the Phoenix: (Standing up for only our section of society is just) one short step from ‘Wizards first’ to ‘Purebloods first,’ and then to ‘Death Eaters'. We’re all human, aren’t we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.

Not As Much As Lord Voldemort

I made my dad stand in line for the sixth Harry Potter book. It was from a bookstore in Sarojini Nagar market in Delhi, before it was all swanky and shit. It was my first completely new Harry Potter book; all my first five copies had been bought second-hand. I don’t remember but I wouldn’t be surprised if dad had bought me the book as a reward for having gotten good grades; that had always been our way.

My parents have never understood my fascination for fiction. My dad lives in a world of responsibility, always taking it just a little bit too seriously. My mum has not a superstitious bone in her body, despite being deeply spiritual, which is a paradox (which she doesn’t find to be so). Neither of them takes time out of their hands to indulge in fiction and imagination and the fanciful world of paranormal fiction. Except for a couple of ghost stories, of course – my dad with his ‘I once gave a ride to an Old Lady Ghost’ and my mum’s ‘I once saw a chhawihfa when I was working in Durtlang hospital but it was probably methane’ stories.

Be that as it may, they’ve always said: If she is reading, it is better than not reading. There has never been a ban on any material. My mum did show signs of concern back when people said Harry Potter promoted witchcraft or some such bull. But even then, she never banned it. I read whatever fiction I could find. My first full-blown novel was The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas which might explain my fascination for gruff men who are far too brilliant for their own good. I might have been ten; I’d say that was a bit young for The Count but like I said, there were no rules. As long as I was reading, it was A-OK.

I read Enid Blyton after Sidney Sheldon, Doctor Faustus and Mills & Boon novels! That was not right. But it still worked. I liked the stories. Whatever I didn’t understand, I simply glossed over.

I never thought I’d be done with comics because I devoured any I could lay my hands on: Archies, Asterix, Biker Mice From Mars, Cartoon Network comics, Chacha Chaodhury, DC, Marvel, Phantom, Photoromances, Richie Rich, Tinkle, Tintin... any and everything. But lately, I can’t seem to bring myself to be engaged in them. Maybe I am getting old. This is new.

In 2011, my mum mused aloud that I read so many books yet never seemed to finish reading the Bible. That got me thinking. I said I’d give it a go. She bought me a small, pocket-friendly, leather-bound NIV Bible and I read it everywhere. It starts out nice with magical stories, gets a bit slow going after a point, but then with the songs and poems in the middle, it finds its ground again, ending with a bang. I’ve been re-reading it annually ever since. I am partial to some parts; not a big fan of some parts.

There are a few other books I continually re-read; January is for The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series. I have re-read a lot of my old books; I consider it catching up with old, dear friends.

And every September, without fail, I return to Hogwarts, as we Potterheads say; via re-reading the books, basically. I remember my first time reading Philosopher’s Stone. It was in the girls’ hostel of SDA Inter-College Roorkee. My friend Meenu got sent the first two books by her grandfather (I think?) and she lent them to me. I was hooked from the line, “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.” Yes, thank you very much.

I snuck out of the Lady Shri Ram Residence Hall for the seventh book with a few friends from college who I remain friends with to this day. There was that whole Midnight Release which because it was simultaneous across the globe, meant about 6:30AM for us in India. Actually, Harry Potter helped me make my first friends in college. We were a group of Freshers standing outside the LSR Auditorium and someone mentioned Harry Potter and a bunch of us just gravitated toward each other. These were the peeps I broke hostel rules with and standing in line with at that bookshop in GK-II that morning. Thanks, Potter.

Addiction is not always a good thing. But as Daniel Radcliffe said, it could be drugs. So I’m still doing OK, I guess. There’s just something so comforting about books, especially fiction.

I’m not the biggest fan of non-fiction but I’m trying out memoirs, biographies, travel and science books. They can be fun. I’d like to one day brag about some heavy literature I can quote offhand as a party trick. For now, I don’t really gravitate to literature that teaches you things. I’ve always preferred something ‘to enjoy’ rather than ‘to accumulate’, as in knowledge. Any wisdom I gain from my reading is ever only incidental.

Fiction works for me because in fiction, things make sense. Which is not always the case in real life. It is an escape, yes. But it can also be a way to learn many of life’s lessons without having to personally make many mistakes. Of course, some mistakes in life you make on your own because they are delicious. Wink wink.

I’ve always been interested in fiction. Some might even call it an obsession. I do not deny it. I’ve made my peace with it and I think it is okay. It is not as much as Lord Voldemort with Harry Potter anyway.