I was once an active member of the said club. Though the thought of it makes me want to crawl into a ditch and never come out, I confess, yes yes, I did admire a guy once - secretly. The works. I was a bloody fool. He never knew I existed. To add insult to injury, during the course of my all consuming admiration, I had never set my eyes on him. To this day I do not know what he looks like.
I was 14 then, and driven by the need to belong to some sort of a clique, any clique, I found myself firmly entrenched in one. I must confess I was never any good at social networking. I was mostly in my own world, but painfully aware of the fact that people around me seemed to quite easily form tightly knit friend groups. I knew I was supposed to be part of one of those too, but lacked the necessary skills and sense of direction as to how to go about it. And so, when a random sisterhood evinced a keen desire to open its doors to let me in, I obliged gratefully.
They were a nice bunch of kids. Fun to be with, but not weird. So as soon as I learnt when and how to keep my mouth shut, we got along famously. We never christened our group, on hindsight I think we should have, after all how often would one have an opportunity to belong to a ‘Famous Five’ or a ‘Svelte Seven’?
S was an established member of the gang. She and I grew especially close to each other because of some special connections; both of us were from the same part of the world, we were both Christians and Catholics to boot. She was very artistic, I remember she made the most beautiful crepe paper roses. She was good with her needlework too, in the craft sessions.
There was a grotto in the school, with a huge tree providing a largish area of shade. We spent lunch breaks under the tree, playing silly hop scotch games and talking nonsense. Shared details about our family, the movies we saw, gossiped about the nuns and teachers and generally whiled away time. At the sacred grotto, one day S announced, “I’d like Ul Rt to marry you. That would make you part of my family, and we can be together forever”. Ul Rt was her cousin brother. Supposed to be quite a dude, from what she told us. Studying in St. John’s Medical College, Bangalore. Single and unattached. Quite a catch.
I was quite happy to acquiesce. Well, I had to get married someday, the sooner the better. And my parents wouldn’t have a problem getting me married to a Catholic doc, would they? How perfect it all was.
But there was one slight problem. I was only 14. And he had just joined St. Johns. We couldn’t possibly get married for another 5 years. S was too young to take a marriage proposal home for her brother. With much anguish, we all decided to stay put and wait for the required number of years to pass before any further steps were taken.
S always promised to bring snaps of Ul Rt, but she brought only one and it was a blurred image of a crowd. She pointed out a splotch of yellow and said, “That’s him. The one wearing the yellow shirt”.
Then we went our separate ways, joined our respective colleges, S and I went to different ones. She got into a place I badly wanted to be in, but I was sent to an all girls college, no undue influences from a co-ed ought to ruin a young impressionable mind as mine, non? I was this devoted almost-wife of Ul Rt, I imagined him to look like a handsome model who appeared in the cheeky Moods Condoms ad of yore. I cut out a picture of him from a magazine and stuck it inside my cupboard, lipstick mark on his cheek. Ironically the ad was of a shirt that portrayed a bohemian outlook and the caption read, “Marriage is an institution, but tell me, who in their right minds would ever want to live in an institution”.
I collected assorted junk in a shoe box, I put in the letters from S in which she proclaimed her interest in getting us married, flower petals, small handmade cards, every tiny little bit of memorabilia, which we were to nostalgically open during our romantic honeymoon. I also sent him secret admirer cards.
I wonder if he ever got them. I wonder if he ever wondered who this crazy female was. But I know now that if he got those juvenile cards, he would have felt happy, he would have smiled. I know, for I have felt happy, I have also smiled when I got my share of SA cards.
I only wish I had seen him once, just once. Because I still do not know what he looks like.
I was 14 then, and driven by the need to belong to some sort of a clique, any clique, I found myself firmly entrenched in one. I must confess I was never any good at social networking. I was mostly in my own world, but painfully aware of the fact that people around me seemed to quite easily form tightly knit friend groups. I knew I was supposed to be part of one of those too, but lacked the necessary skills and sense of direction as to how to go about it. And so, when a random sisterhood evinced a keen desire to open its doors to let me in, I obliged gratefully.
They were a nice bunch of kids. Fun to be with, but not weird. So as soon as I learnt when and how to keep my mouth shut, we got along famously. We never christened our group, on hindsight I think we should have, after all how often would one have an opportunity to belong to a ‘Famous Five’ or a ‘Svelte Seven’?
S was an established member of the gang. She and I grew especially close to each other because of some special connections; both of us were from the same part of the world, we were both Christians and Catholics to boot. She was very artistic, I remember she made the most beautiful crepe paper roses. She was good with her needlework too, in the craft sessions.
There was a grotto in the school, with a huge tree providing a largish area of shade. We spent lunch breaks under the tree, playing silly hop scotch games and talking nonsense. Shared details about our family, the movies we saw, gossiped about the nuns and teachers and generally whiled away time. At the sacred grotto, one day S announced, “I’d like Ul Rt to marry you. That would make you part of my family, and we can be together forever”. Ul Rt was her cousin brother. Supposed to be quite a dude, from what she told us. Studying in St. John’s Medical College, Bangalore. Single and unattached. Quite a catch.
I was quite happy to acquiesce. Well, I had to get married someday, the sooner the better. And my parents wouldn’t have a problem getting me married to a Catholic doc, would they? How perfect it all was.
But there was one slight problem. I was only 14. And he had just joined St. Johns. We couldn’t possibly get married for another 5 years. S was too young to take a marriage proposal home for her brother. With much anguish, we all decided to stay put and wait for the required number of years to pass before any further steps were taken.
S always promised to bring snaps of Ul Rt, but she brought only one and it was a blurred image of a crowd. She pointed out a splotch of yellow and said, “That’s him. The one wearing the yellow shirt”.
Then we went our separate ways, joined our respective colleges, S and I went to different ones. She got into a place I badly wanted to be in, but I was sent to an all girls college, no undue influences from a co-ed ought to ruin a young impressionable mind as mine, non? I was this devoted almost-wife of Ul Rt, I imagined him to look like a handsome model who appeared in the cheeky Moods Condoms ad of yore. I cut out a picture of him from a magazine and stuck it inside my cupboard, lipstick mark on his cheek. Ironically the ad was of a shirt that portrayed a bohemian outlook and the caption read, “Marriage is an institution, but tell me, who in their right minds would ever want to live in an institution”.
I collected assorted junk in a shoe box, I put in the letters from S in which she proclaimed her interest in getting us married, flower petals, small handmade cards, every tiny little bit of memorabilia, which we were to nostalgically open during our romantic honeymoon. I also sent him secret admirer cards.
Ul Rt,
St. John’s College,
II year MBBS,
Bangalore.
I wonder if he ever got them. I wonder if he ever wondered who this crazy female was. But I know now that if he got those juvenile cards, he would have felt happy, he would have smiled. I know, for I have felt happy, I have also smiled when I got my share of SA cards.
I only wish I had seen him once, just once. Because I still do not know what he looks like.
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