Thursday 13 August 2015

Pretentious - 5

If you are new to the series, here are the other parts:

*Contains profanity.



Siddharth Sharma.

I was momentarily blinded by the flicker of memories that paralyzed my brain. Sid. This is Sid.

It was the summer of 7th grade. Puberty was yet to hit me. You know how the topic of menstruation and boys and kisses is all so much taboo, so exciting and yet caused nausea? That was me. Except, it was not boys. It was this boy. This boy who was in 9th grade when I was in the 7th. This boy whom all the girls had lost their hearts to. This boy who featured in a dozen dreams of many a girls of my school, each night, every night. This boy who had a stubble in those days when other boys had baby skin and shrill,annoying voices. Stubble, damnit. This boy who was taller than every other boy. This boy who wore his shirt half in, half out. This boy whose hair would be combed well enough to pacify the discipline committee, ruffled enough to give a bunch of butterflies to every other girl. This boy who had mischief written in his eyes. This boy, whom, I was hopelessly in love with. And the same boy, who didn't have a damn clue.

Rather, the same boy who couldn't give a lesser shit about me and my little heart. The same boy who humiliated me in front of a bunch of other boys. The same boy who never cared.

It was the first day of 8th grade. I was ecstatic. Back to school is such a lovely thing. New bags and new Bata shoes. New books and new labels. Oh, the new boxes of Camel compasses and dividers. The new bottle of Tupperware. (The one if it ever got lost, my mother would behead me!) The new ribbons for the pony tails, the new sports bras. Yes, I was a proud member of the clan of girls that didn't wear camisoles anymore, training bras for the win. The first day was all the more special to me and why! My recently US-returned aunt had gifted me a bottle of perfume. A fancy looking perfume bottle with Hello Kitty all over. Extremely fruity with a hint of cheesy girl fragrance? Now that I look back, I probably smelled like a hooker. Yikes. But hello, new perfume. First perfume. So off I had been to school, drowning myself in the new Hello Kitty perfume. My dad was concerned about the excessive-ity of the perfume. "Have you showered?" As he dropped me off to school, I had waved him good bye and turned around with my head down. Sly as I was, from the corner of my eye, I watched my dad drive away to office.  I wiped away the dot of vermilion from my forehead. WTF, parents. As if being boobless wasn't enough to make me uncool, you want to apply red dots to my face. I already had had a spat with mom that morning, over the need for application of two and half liters of pure coconut oil to my hair. Also, the hem line of the skirt was a matter of argument. In my parents eyes, I had become the slut they feared I would be. "Don't let her watch MTV."  "Beta, what is Orkut? Why are you having a scrapbook there? What happened  to the scrapbook you made in fifth standard? Sandeep bhaiyya told me you have five boys who have you as favorite?" Fuck you, Sandeep bhaiyya. 

Walking down the corridors, I made sure that I walked straight with the right posture, lest my almost-non-existent chest be not seen. Girls moved in packs, flaunting new stationery to other jealous packs. 

After school that day, I was out by the stairs, waiting for dad to come pick me up. It was drizzling, not uncommon for Junes in Bangalore. The humidity had frizzed my hair. I was borderline Lion King. 

To my right, a gang of boys huddled. Two footballs were getting kicked around amongst the gang members. Yes, Sid was there too. I was holding back the urge to look at him lest I dissolve into a puddle of crimson. I could hear bytes of their boy talk. Football. Smokes. Pocket money. Girl. Girl with the big booty. Yikes. Boys gross me out. I thought. Until I heard the word residential school.  The words residential school and Sid and 'two more days here'. That's when I observed. Sid wasn't in uniform. Sid wasn't in muddy school shoes. Sid wasn't carrying a school bag. Sid would be leaving in two days.

I shattered into a million pieces on the inside.

And a few pieces decided to take matter into  hands. be continued. 

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PPS: Fiction.
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