Dilli Diaries

I didn’t like the first look of Delhi. The language was new to me, the people were rather rude and the weather was awful. When my family landed there, it was hot, really hot. Since the admission deadlines for most schools were over, I joined a school called Kathuria Public School in south Delhi. It was almost like a government school with very limited facilities. My parents weren’t too happy about my being in this school. Tin roofed row of classes and a play ground in the middle, this was not “our” standard. I also thought this school was about okay (at least the look of it) and I did hope to move out from there the next year. I made a good friend whose case had been similar to mine. We had been too late to join any other school. Nevertheless we enjoyed every day there. The teachers, students everyone around me seemed really nice. I actually quite loved it.

A year went by easily. My parents applied for my admission in Delhi Public School. Yes, the popular and much acclaimed “big” school. I was one of the "lucky" ones to pass the entrance test and somehow my parents got the huge (at that time huge) admission fee together and my true life lessons began. My good friend from Kathuria got admission in another big school called Mother’s International. She wasn’t to join me at DPS as I had hoped. I had to face this alone. Of course.

The first day of DPS: I was really scared. Here I was, a tiny little girl in a big, big school. Long, black hair oiled and braided neatly, bindi on the forehead, I certainly stood out from the rest of my class. My new new classmates whose hair was cut short, forehead sans the bindi would asked me questions like why I wore a bindi at all? I was rather mis-tuned in style and “class”. My middle class parents couldn’t afford the expensive birthday parties, return gifts, school trips and such. I didn’t know how to make friends with the boys at a time when my girl classmates were contemplating having boyfriends! I definitely couldn’t fit in amongst my classmates although I most desperately wanted to. My teachers assumed I was going to be very intelligent since I was a Madrasi. (No I am not a “Madrasi”, but North Indians often refer to all south Indians as Madrasi!). So there was undue pressure on me of being an intelligent “Madrasi”. My Hindi teacher assumed my Hindi was bad (although this never was the case in Kathuria) and started lecturing me on how to go about improving it. My school life it seems was quite prejudiced. As one can imagine, I was quite terrified of my new school.

There was a huge pressure on me to perform well in the tests and exams. Apart from that, I had to keep up to my own standards I established by topping exams in the old school. This kicked me off even more. The new school had a very complex way of testing and the grading method was different. A certain percentage of unit test marks would be carried over to the final exam results. Project work was given on and off and it mattered towards your final exam results. The tests had no doubt gotten harder and there was stiff competition not only within a class but also amongst sections of the same class!

I did make some friends. You know how the un-cool types always yearn to hang out with the cooler ones, like that. And just as I thought I had settled in somewhat, there came about a twist, a fight. It was between me and one of my cool friends. But the whole class decided to take part in this issue and how. They all sided with the cool gal and I was un-surprisingly left to my own. They didn’t talk to me, didn’t sit with me during lunch breaks and boycotted me thoroughly. I was dead sure it was not my fault (whatever the fight was for).I kept silent and I kept to myself. I am not sure how as a kid under such enormous pressure of circumstances I sustained all alone, friendless. I wouldn’t tell my sad tale to anyone at home. I hence loved being at home and hated school. Then after many days (months actually) of my silent struggle at school, things changed.

During an English class, somehow this issue came up in front of the teacher. The boys of the class disclosed the details to her and explained how I was being treated by the other girls in class. My English teacher at the time (Ms.Latika Rai, I seem to remember her name!) was startled at the revelations. I began to cry, all those tears I had held up for many days. She listened to both sides of the story and concluded that the girls had indeed been very mean to me. She asked them to apologize; called me a hero, for not having complained to any teacher about this and sustaining their behavior for so long. Almost immediately after that class, some of the girls who had been a little kind earlier too became friends with me. I was no more friendless, thanks to Latika Ma’am.

I encouraged myself to participate in dance auditions for the annual cultural competitions. I got selected easily and won the first place for my group/house. I didn’t know this was a big deal. But it apparently was. Everyone including the house captain and prefects became friends with me instantly. Then on I was a sought after house member. They sent me for other competitions and I became quite popular, thanks to my dancing skills. Finally I got the acceptance I was really looking for. It had taken me two years to get this far: to tell this big school not to be so prejudiced about a small girl from the south.

Obviously after all this, my classmates became good friends with me. Finally I had the friends; I had gotten much cooler and I had begun topping exams, Hindi language exams included. What more could I ask for. At this very juncture in my 6^th graded “personal” life, my family was to move out of Delhi. Unbelievably, I had to leave all that I established in the last two years and worse I had to start all over again in a new place, new school and amongst new people. And such was my bitter sweet Dilli experience!

[Dilli diaries was inspired after watching two delhi based bollywood flicks, Band Baaja Baraat and No One Killed Jessica].