There was this one girl in madressa that bullied me relentlessly.
Even now, as an adult, the mere thought of her makes my stomach churn a beat
faster than Kim Kardashian spreads her legs. I was thirteen, pre-pubescent and
unsure of myself. My darker than Indian skin made me stick out like the
protruding stomach of a starved Somalian kid, it didn’t help either that our
financial situation did not deem me fit for the league of (self-deemed)
extraordinary Indianism.
I was the only batsman on my team and even though I
had what could be called a ‘big mouth’ I contained no finesse. I didn’t know
how to stand up for myself without ending up with a foot in my mouth, and that
too, one of my own.
I’ve never used the word bitch liberally, but at the mere
sight of her, you’d think that was the only word my vocabulary contained.
To paint a mental image; she was thin, of average height,
pale in complexion (without bordering on anaemic) with long dainty fingers. The
one thing that really stood out for me was her nose. It was precisely pointed
but her nostrils extended inwards giving any one that looked her a way a clear
view of the hair that grew along the insides.
She was pretty no doubt, but I was in a battle against
Cruella and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t counter react. I was not
without flaws, not now and not then either. Perhaps it was something I had said
or done that had set her off, whatever it was I wish 13 year old me knew that
sometimes the best battles are fought in silence and that not retaliating isn’t
always a sign of weakness.
I never related all these incidents to my parents. It’s not
that they wouldn’t have listened, I just didn’t feel it was their battle to
bear. I wanted to handle it on my own, regardless of how tough it was.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened had I told them. Would things have
been easier? Better in fact?
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