I don’t write about the past because I need sympathy. Whatever sympathy anyone feels for the events that happened a quarter of century ago is not going to make any difference to my life. I write because sometimes writing it out helps to quieten the beast that threatens my sanity.
When I joined the medical college, one thing that plagued me was my periods. I never had normal periods. It was irregularly irregular and I was suffering. In Physio, one of the first thing you learn is to check your Hb level. Mine was insanely low. I was tired all the time and I couldn’t even concentrate. As usual, the first line of dealing with the issue was to approach my mother. She was unhelpful. I figured the only way to deal with the issue was to go to a doctor myself. I didn’t want to go to the doctors at the medical college for you see them everyday and this was something personal. There was a well known gynaecologist in Bangalore who stayed pretty close to one of my classmate’s house. He helped me make an appointment and took me to the clinic. I spent the night at his house, with his father, mother, three older sisters, one brother in law and a niece. His mother taught me how to make Phulkas.The reason why I spent the night at his house was that I was taking couple of days off and going back home and I only managed to get a reservation for the next day. Going back to the college and faking another dead grandfather was cumbersome. Besides I enjoyed staying at my friend’s house. It was a normal house where people talked and laughed, something I never experienced in my own house. In fact when I mentioned that I loved the gagra choli his sister was wearing, she gave me one of her set to wear. A few months later when the family went back to their native place, they bought me a mirror work gagra choli.
Meanwhile, unbeknown to me, my virginity keeper (my oldest sister) had come/called my college. Don’t know what exactly happened. Needless to say that she lost her marbles when she found out that I wasn’t where I was supposed to be and was in fact didn’t have a grandfather that could die. He was already dead two decades ago.
So, imagine the fireworks that waited for me when I reached Kottayam. I tried to explain to my mother where I was, but to no avail.
Virginity keeper arrived the next day and in order to prove my innocence, I showed her the doctors note. I didn’t trust her with the note, so I made sure, I took it back and hid it my room. But she was a pro when it came to espionage and I never saw the doctors note again.
In the letter that George sent , one of the things he mentioned was that I had an abortion at the clinic. He mentioned the name of the clinic. Some of my hostel mates knew that I was going to the clinic. Because I had asked those from Bangalore about the Gynaecologist I was planning to see. Putting two and two together was not a difficult thing to do.
This abortion episode had stayed with me until I left the medical college. More so, because one of my seniors had joined the same clinic that I went to after graduating and he claimed that he checked the old records and it was true to his friends at the college (his juniors). Either he lied or my sister and George changed the record. But the truth is, I never had an abortion. If I was pregnant, I had the guts to carry the child and give birth. I wish I was pregnant because then I would have had something so beautiful to remind me of a great man. Imagine a baby with his eyes..
For 4 1/2 years, I was not part of any gang. No one wanted me to sit with them while eating. People went to the mess in groups (either based on their mother tongue or by room mates) I went alone for every single meal. I was never asked to join tour groups. Mallu Girls from my batch went to Goa, Ooty etc and I was never invited. They used to go together to restaurants, shopping trips etc. I was never even invited to any weddings of any classmates.
I went to mess everyday on my own, fortunately I had books to keep me company, so not having a conversation didn’t bother me. I used to go to the canteen and talk to the boys because they were less judgemental and sometimes I went to restaurants with them ( which incidentally tarnished my reputation some more because I was a flirt and went out to eat with boys!). Once I had a row with a classmate guy who wanted something more than friendship that I wasn’t willing to offer. He felt I was stringing him along and abandoned me at the restaurant. I ended up crying as I had no way of getting back home at 11.30 at night on my own and also the anger that just because I went out for a meal with this guy he expected me to warm his bed. The guy who was a chef at the rice bowl in Brigade road came to my rescue and we became good friends. After that I didn’t need any friends to drop in to the restaurant to eat. I actually tracked him down this time when I went to Bangalore to thank him for being a good friend.
Ps. I don’t think you would ever understand the harm you have inflicted on me. There will never be a day that I will ever forgive you. I am indifferent to my sisters younger to me, but for you, I save all my hatred. I have said so many times to leave me alone and you still had the audacity to use your fake name and try to add me on messenger. For you, this is a game? to torment me? Keep creating your fake names on FB and I will keep blocking you. Just remember, that with each attempt, you increase my hatred for you a million fold.