Borderline Page 4

  My Papa had two sisters and a brother. One of his sisters, Mira, fell in love with a guy, but her feelings were not reciprocated. As a result, she gradually became insane. She was never formally diagnosed or treated, because Papa did not particularly care for doctors, but Mira suffered from severe psychosis and some form of paranoid schizophrenia. In the light of this, his desire to make me a doctor was rather ironic.

  Papa’s brother, Neeraj, was an officer in the Indian Railways. He, too, fell in love, but his lady love ran away with his money. Short of Rs 50 lakhs, my uncle left his job and ran to Bihar and became a criminal. Both Mira and Neeraj were jilted in love, and therefore lost their equilibrium.

  I now realise that I was genetically predisposed to mental sickness.

  Sati left for America to pursue her undergraduate degree. Papa did not have money but he sent her there to study anyway. Financially and emotionally burdened, Papa was overstressed and working too hard. ‘Papa, please stop your association with wrong people like Mrs Bhati. All your friends are using you and your position,’ I begged and pleaded with him. But he was stubborn and angry, and did things his way. I knew he missed Mamma a lot. ‘I hope your mother gets remarried. I wish her the best but I do not want to talk to her or ever see her again. This is the end of my involvement with her,’ he would say.

  I know now that if you really don’t care for someone, you are indifferent to them. If you allow them to affect you so much, as my father did my mother, it is because, deep down, they mean something to you.

  Chapter 3

  WHEN I HAD SOME LOVE FOR MYSELF

  Self-love can illuminate the soul,

  make one peaceful, keep one whole.

  True love for another cannot be fully known

  if you don’t have self-love in your bones.

  To love oneself is the most important thing to do,

  Otherwise all other love is hollow if you can’t love you.

  I had become quite comfortable living with Papa and my two aunts, but I continued to have sleep issues. I needed someone to sleep besides me. My elder aunt, Mira, was lost in her own world, and became a skeleton who only talked to the voices in her own head. She constantly uttered the name of the man she had fallen in love with. My younger aunt, Pratibha, would sleep with me in what used to be my mother’s room, but despite her presence, I had bad dreams, often dreaming that the room was haunted.

  I was seventeen, and began to discover my own sexuality and needs. I had never really had a boyfriend. Unlike my mother’s peaches-and-cream complexion, I was dusky, with a round face, wore braces, and had a huge complex about my physical appearance. I always felt like the ugly duckling of a beautiful swan.

  Even though I was slim and had long, silky brown hair, I felt that I never looked good in my school uniform. However, with some effort put in, I did look nice when I dressed up. It would bother me that I had to make an effort to look pretty, unlike my mother who simply seemed to be so, without even trying.

  I was attracted to boys. But I couldn’t go out with them often because I was guarded by six gunmen, and they reported everything—my whereabouts, who I met, how long I stayed with them—to Papa. I don’t know why he was so possessive of me. Perhaps it was because he had no faith in women after what had happened with my mother, or maybe he did this for my own good. I always felt trapped and would resent him for it.

  I disliked the fact that I couldn’t go to parties because of my Papa. All my friends went partying often, and I wanted to do the same, but could not. I had a genuine liking and was comfortable with the party scene. Whenever I did go out, which was rare, I was always the centre of attention. People would compliment me on how nice I looked, and men would gather around me. On my part, I would talk with such confidence that I would make people laugh at my jokes.

  Rather than focusing on studies, my priority was to find ways to give Papa the slip. For instance, I would take my aunt to a café and slip out of the back door to avoid the guards, and go on a date with Himanshu, a guy I was attracted to. We would go to his farmhouse and make out. He wanted to sleep with me, but all we did was kiss.

  On the occasion that I could go myself, I also took my aunt to the most happening parties in town. She was my perfect cover. For instance, there was one party, the SJOBA Winter Ball that everybody was looking forward to. Papa was at Mrs Bhati’s house and I called to tell him I was going there. At first he wouldn’t allow me to, but I begged him and finally managed to get him to relent by telling him that I was taking my aunt along. I went dressed in red, knowing that I looked sexy. One of the richest and most handsome men in town, Puneet, who was a known playboy, stared at me all night. He even took my number. I had to leave early but I loved the attention he gave me. In fact, Puneet and his close friend had a fight over me the same night. I got very angry with Puneet and refused to take his calls. However, this fight that these two boys had over who gets to be with me gave a monumental boost to my ego, and I finally felt wanted.

  A few incidents that took place were a bit alarming. Once I went to a coffee shop with a girlfriend named Puneet. Her namesake, Puneet, the playboy, who had been attracted to me and wanted me desperately, happened to be there as well. He had previously tried to make amends for misbehaving by sending flowers, which I had returned. When he realised that I was at the same coffee shop as him, he tried to catch hold of me. I was not at all ready to meet him so I went and hid in the bathroom. All his pleas and attempts to get me out of there failed. He finally left the coffee shop after a long wait, which was a big relief for me. I rushed home and finally relaxed. I don’t know why, but I was just not ready to meet Puneet. There I was, relaxing and having coffee with my girlfriend, and Puneet the playboy arrived, throwing me off balance. Was I losing all my confidence? Was I so paranoid about the way I looked that I did not want to meet a handsome guy who already liked me? I did have love for myself but was it enough?

  While I was growing up, realising that such incidents were part of life, I also realised that I was neglecting my studies. I needed to maintain a balance between work and play. Of course, I blamed my lack of focus on my parents’ divorce, never letting that fact move from my consciousness.

  My relationship with my Papa entered a rough patch at this point, chiefly because of his possessive nature and strictness, more so towards me than Sati. While it was okay for Sati to meet boys and go out with them, I was always watched and could never really have any guy friends apart from my neighbours. I was aware that he was more protective towards me because I was a problem child. Therefore, it surprised me when he told me that he was planning on sending me abroad for further studies. I wondered who would follow me around and keep me protected there.

  I was upset about the difference in treatment that was meted out to us. I spoke to Papa about how Sati the sweet and sensible child was always allowed things that I was not. ‘She is sensible; she is not looking for a boyfriend,’ Papa said to me.

  ‘Papa, that’s funny. Who told you I am looking for a boyfriend?’

  ‘Bungua, you are and I know how you slip security and meet boys. I know everything. This is not a joke. I will kill you if I find you doing wrong things and going out with the wrong boys.’ Papa was angry now and I was terrified.

  To pacify him, I said, ‘Papa, teach me more about the epics, about chess, about how to ride a horse, and especially how to be a cop.’

  He took a serious interest in teaching me how to ride; he got someone to teach me how to shoot a gun and I practiced shooting. He even taught me how to drink wine: Which wine goes with what food; how much to drink, and more. ‘Never ever lose control when you drink. Just remember to always be in your senses,’ Papa said.

  While teaching me how to play chess, Papa said, ‘In chess, all you have to do is to make your move, think what your opponent’s move might be, and then plan your response to it.’ I participated in chess competitions in school and always won.

  It was time for me to join high school. The best one in town, Vive
k High School, was rather difficult to get admission into. After many failed attempts, Papa called up the Education Minister of Punjab, and my application got accepted.

  He always protected me from being rejected, as far as possible. However, I let him down; I had failed in every subject in school except English and biology.

  ‘I am shifting you to another school. You have not studied at all; you have failed. Your attendance is close to nothing. If you fail now in Class 12, you will be thrown out of the house,’ Papa spoke in anger, and I got one tight slap across my face.

  I changed my school, got my act together and cleared Class 12.

  ‘Papa, I have passed, but I would like to study in India,’ I said nervously.

  ‘You are admitted to New York University, and you want to study in the Government Girl’s College in Chandigarh?’ Papa was astounded.

  I did not want to move to America; I knew I would not fit in there, and not like it. Sati was in Iowa and she was fine, but I knew I wouldn’t be.

  I also knew that it would be an added financial burden for Papa. There was literally no money left at all. Loans from banks and friends were killing Papa financially. One day, Mrs Bhati came home and told me how tight my father’s situation was, and yet how he did not flinch for a second to host an extravagant birthday party for me. I felt so special that my father went through so much trouble just so I could have a great party. However, I told Mrs Bhati that maybe she should pay for her son’s education on her own rather than expecting the money from Papa. She understood very well never to cross my path again.

  I was certain that Mrs Bhati was not a good influence on my father; that he would be better off without her manipulative company. In fact, all my father’s friends seemed to be there because of his position and not because they genuinely cared for him. This worried me a lot. He needed actual friends.

  As soon as my parents got divorced, all my mother’s friends abandoned her. I remember when my mother came to Chandigarh to get her passport renewed, she stood in a queue for hours. She called up a few friends who were at important posts and who could have helped her, but no one did. That’s the nature of people. They only respect those who have money and power. My father was different, though. He helped people without expecting anything in return, a quality which I imbibed and respected. A quality which I’m afraid is rare and never really appreciated. And in my case, this is a quality that comes back to haunt me.

  Chapter 4

  FOLLOWING HIS DREAMS

  Always dream big; make them impossible at best.

  My father dreamt big and I became caught up in its quest.

  It was not my dream maybe that’s why it had to end.

  The truth is that the dreamer and the pursuer must blend.

  Dreams do come true; especially if you work hard, and make them happen. Success lies primarily in the amount of work one puts in: It is 90 per cent hard work and 10 per cent brilliance and talent. Papa used to say, ‘I will keep pushing you to your limits, not to make you successful but to make you accomplished.’

  I wanted to study in India to stay close to my family and friends. But my father wanted me to study in New York. He wanted me to become a neurosurgeon. I did not doubt my abilities, but I was just not inspired enough. I was supposed to depart for New York in January 2003.

  Mamma had shifted to Mumbai to be with her mother. I was glad she wasn’t living alone. When I went there just before leaving for New York, I was very happy to know that she and Rana Uncle were in touch once again. He was posted in Goa, and had started off a new career. I was not too sure about the role he played in my mother’s life now, but it was a relief to know that she had someone to talk to, someone who cared for her. I was also relieved that he was alive and well.

  I had more space to myself in Mumbai, and I was enjoying my time with my Mamma. We would go to Colaba and shop, or head out to Royal Café and have a sizzler and cold coffee with ice cream. I also loved going to Haji Ali and Babulnath. I had been born into a Hindu family, and I grew up observing rituals, religious practices and traditions. Though I did believe in God, my mind opposed organised religion. When I went to a temple and saw water, milk and other things being offered to God, I would think it was a waste of precious resources! History tells us that the rise of religion was at the cost of human beings. The way I saw it, religion was breeding contempt amongst fellow humans, which was against the very nature of being a human being; so how could it be the way of God? I was also of the opinion that gods were the creation of man’s imagination.

  Talking of fellow humans, I would love and hate people with the same passion. If I were getting along with someone, I would always put their needs before mine. However, if someone rubbed me the wrong way, I would hate them with my entire being. This kind of extremism made it very difficult for me to have rewarding relationships. All my associations with people were always on the brink of an argument. I felt that no one understood me. Because of the fear of losing people, I would bend backwards to please them. For example, if I would have a fight with a friend, and even if I thought it was not entirely my fault, in order not to lose the friend, I would be the one to apologise. It was necessary for me to receive some kind of solace from my relationships.

  My parents understood me to some extent. But I began to desire a relationship in which the other person would understand me completely. I wanted someone to notice the good things about me and admire and appreciate me for them. At the same time, I also wanted freedom to do what I wanted to do. With this state of mind, my need to have a relationship was more urgent than having a career.

  From Mumbai, I had to go back to Chandigarh and apply for a visa. My application got rejected by the American embassy in Delhi. Papa made me re-apply twice again, and it got rejected both times. He got angry and wrote a letter to the Ministry of External Affairs and literally begged them to get me an F-1 visa for USA. A special interview was lined up for me, for which I had to rush to Delhi from Chandigarh. The driver drove at such great speed that we reached Delhi in three hours instead of four, and Papa rewarded him duly.

  At the embassy, I met with a very pleasant consul. He simply chatted with me on non-visa-related issues, and then suddenly said, ‘I am issuing you an F-1 visa, enjoy your time in the States!’ I was shocked.

  When I went outside, I saw Papa standing with his friends, all of whom looked very happy. That was when it hit me that I was going to leave India, leave my mother and father, and my life here. I was not ready for this change at all. But I had to go; I was doing this to make Papa happy, and that meant a lot to me.

  Just before I left for America, I again went to Mumbai for three days to be with my mother. My heart was aching at the mere thought of being oceans away from my loved ones. Those three days went by very quickly. When the time came for my mother to drop me at the airport, I was crying bitterly. I said to her, ‘I don’t know what it is that I’m leaving behind … a part of my heart, a piece of my soul.’ Her eyes, too, welled up and she asked me what was bothering me. ‘It is you and Papa. I am divided between you two and I am leaving you two behind.’ With these words, I left for Delhi. I joined Papa there and we left together for New York.

  ***

  We tend to forget but the truth is set, that all that has been and all

  that will come is not as vital as all that today has done,

  What is now is all that we can mend, tomorrow is after all

  dependent on how yesterday went.

  Papa came with me to New York since he wanted to help me get settled, unlike in the case of Sati, who had done everything on her own. We were supposed to stay at Papa’s acquaintance’s house. He worked on Wall Street, and was kind enough to let me stay at his house for a couple of months. I asked Papa not to leave me alone as I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. Papa told me that as soon as there was money, he would shift me to the university dorms. Until then, I was to stay at this person’s house. ‘But the dorms will not help; I am scared of sleeping alone,’ I rep
lied and burst into tears.

  ‘I will find another Indian family with whom you can live for some time.’

  ‘Please take me back to India!’ I pleaded.

  ‘Bungua, I will, but let us at least get you registered for classes, get you a bank account and get you a phone.’

  ‘Fine, but I don’t think I am capable of staying here.’

  Now, I was left with no choice but to try and settle in. I went to New York University and met lots of people. The campus was spread out, and I was at the College of Arts and Science. I met the international students’ advisor, who explained to me how to go about college and classes. In the first semester, as a freshman, my subjects were psychology, art and theatre, introduction to biology, English, and theology.

  I had initial issues like not having a social security number without which I could not get a phone or a driver’s license, even a bank account. I had to use Papa’s friend’s social security number to get all these things.

  I wanted to go back to India. America made me feel so isolated and alone. My father was his usual self wherever he was. One day, he and I were having lunch with a Macedonian classmate of mine. She was quite disturbed because she had to return to her country as her parents could not afford to pay her tuition fee. Papa, without knowing anything about this girl, took down her details and reassured her that she would not have to give up on her studies because of lack of money. For him, helping someone was good karma and he would do anything he could to help educate someone.

  Two months had gone by. Papa went to visit Sati, in Iowa. During the two weeks that he was away, I stayed up all night and was able to sleep only when the sun came up; therefore, I missed my classes.

  Sati was doing well, and had many Indian friends. She lived on the campus of her university, and had befriended a South African-Indian boy named Eklavya. Papa approved of him, and told me this friend of Sati’s was a good cook and a very hard working boy, and was taking care of Sati. While Papa was in Iowa, I spoke to him, Sati, as well as Eklavya, who said, ‘Your sister takes care of me as opposed to me taking care of her.’