Who Am I

By Ameya P P

“She has got beautiful eyes.” … “Her curls are golden” … “She sings like a nightingale”. Yes! They were talking about Sithara Mehta. The most popular girl of Sacred Hearts College, Mumbai. She took proud strides and walked like a queen which invited jealousies of other girls and glances of every boy there. She knew that most of the boys wished for a girl like her. But she ignored all the attention she got and excelled in academics too. No surprises, she was the Best Student of the college. Raised like a princess, Sithara in every way made her parents proud.

Little did she know that the Annual Talent Hunt this year would change her life forever. Sithara was pretty confident that like the previous three years, this year too she would bag the “Best Speaker Prize”. Wearing the bright pink-frilled frock which her mother herself stitched for her, she entered the stage. She was indeed a stage presence. A bright moppet! She was more than ready for it and the judges posed the topic towards her on which she had to speak on the spot. “Who Am I?”. Yes. That was the topic. For a moment, Sithara felt the world turn upside down. She had to speak something now. Or else, she would lose. But for the first time, she was out of words. Not a word came out of her mouth. The bright sun-lit face became dull as if clouds covered it. What was she supposed to say...That she was the most popular girl in the college?... that she was the prettiest girl? … After all that she was a girl? No! In front of her Papa, Mama and Naveen Bhaiyya, she could not. She could not in front of Riya, Jai and not in front of Rithvik. Tears filled the girl’s eyes and she ran out of the stage. She faced none and ran straight to the green room set up for the dancers. It was empty. Sithara stood in front of a mirror there and burst out. She felt her reflection with her hands. She knew that this reflection was not hers. Why was she running away from herself? From childhood, the Hot Wheels cars in her hands was snatched away and a barbie doll was placed instead. She always wanted to style her hair like Naveen Bhaiyya. She longed to wear shirts like Papa. But, she could not.

That night when she got home from college, it felt different. Everything felt different. It was no usual night for her. Not her usual thoughts. At home, Sithara was given the best room a girl of her age could ever imagine. An air-conditioned room with pink wallpapers. Her wardrobe was filled with the most expensive gowns and tops with myriad colors. Her parents considered her a gem. Her life was perfect and she had everyone. But at the end of the day, she felt empty. She felt exhausted. She didn’t know why, but wishing her parents good night, locking her door she would cry in her room, hugging her Teddy tightly. Somedays, she would listen to pop music. The girl who set fire on the stage with her chilankas, secretly grooved to latest western tracks and raps. But why secretly? How could she deny the fact that she felt attracted to girls? Why did she develop a deep passion for Miss.Seema’s curves? All these thoughts passed her mind. But she did not cry. She felt disappointed at her own self for needing a question like who am I to recognize her own identity. She felt ashamed for masking her real self...for escaping from it for the sake of others. Why was she abandoning her own identity? Despite all the happiness, was her loneliness a result of this abandonment? No. It’s enough, she thought. She felt a new kind of energy overflowing in her. The next day, she was determined to do something and for a thousand nights over, she slept peacefully.

The next day, she woke up and called her Naveen Bhaiyya to come and pick her up. She went outside and the first thing she did was cut her long locks of hair. With the weight of her thick hair released from her, she was feeling a kind of positivity and relief. The first step has been done. Then she went and purchased some t-shirts and denims and went home happily. On seeing her hair cropped, a huge rumpus was created in her house. “What is this Sithara? Are you out of your mind or are you determined to make us ashamed? What about our family’s “izzat”?”. Her father yelled at her. Her mother started crying and said “this is all a result of not attending the Panditji’s prayers regularly.” Sithara felt all her energy loosing from her. Her peaceful house with a perfectly happy family was now going to be all shattered. Was it all because of her? Should she become and act “normal” as they say? No. This had nothing to do with the family’s izzat or Panditji’s prayers. It was all about her and for herself. It was all about living her life as the real her. It was all about being herself!

She was prepared for her next and big step. The next day, she went to college with her hair styled using hair gel and wearing a black hoodie with blue denims. Classy! To her surprise, even the boys admired her style. Now, whether she is a lesbian or not…let herself find it out and accept herself. But it was now that she/he (whatever pronoun Sithara wishes to use) became a true “Si-Thara”!!

By Ameya P P