BACK TO SCHOOL

After a stretch of celebrations and ritual after ritual, the home is finally at peace. If this is what marriage is all about, I am deeply concerned. I want to stay clear that I am not interested in marriages and ceremonies. I am not made for it, and I must implant the idea in my parents’ hearts now and then. 

 

Aliza is now a programmed machine at my home. I know her schedule by heart. When she wakes up, when she cooks, when she washes dishes and clothes, and when she finally rests. I can’t be this person when I grow up. I dream of reading more, travelling around the world, and making myself financially stable. Escaping this system is my plan. But will everyone around me let me live my life? I have no idea, but I will never stop working towards that goal.

 

I see Aliza look longingly at me as I pack my school bag. She has been throwing shady looks since she got to know I am getting back to school today. First, there was sadness in her eyes and then a bit of jealousy too. And longing. But how am I to help her? I heard she wanted to pursue higher education but was denied. To get back to that place, my parents and brother would never agree. I know them. 

  

I keep glancing at her sideways as I struggle to fit in the sweet box to share with my friends on behalf of the newlyweds. I know they wouldn't be interested. But this is on Ma’s insistence. Rather, her request. I may or may not share this with them depending on how cool they think this is. Out of all the things I said to Aliza today, she is relieved that she doesn't have to pack me lunch separately. 

 

I load my bag on my bicycle and pedal out of the house. I have been missing school ever since this marriage festivities began. Other than taunting relatives and tiring ceremonies, what fun was there to enjoy? And every aunt and uncle who came my way got on my nerves. “Oh, Guddu. You are next.” “Look at her, she is all grown up and ready for marriage already.” “Take notes from Aliza. You will be going to someone’s home soon too.” All those words still irritate me even though I feigned a smile then. 

 

As I make a left turn to enter the main road, I see him again. He is hiding behind the narrow pillar of a tea shop on his bicycle and pretending to chat with his friends. I know all the while that he has been waiting for me. In the slight inconvenient rocking of his legs, his trembling fingers against the handlebar, the nervousness that storms his face that he is trying to cover desperately, I can read why he has been following me all along. But I don’t entertain stalkers. I like guys who are brave enough to meet face-to-face to confess their feelings. This one here is nothing but a stalker who will while away his school time following me around and then one day find the courage to flash a smile or wave at me. Then when I say I am not looking for flings or romantic relationships, he will develop an intense hatred and disgust towards me. He will later move on to the other girl and she may or may not yield to his advances depending on her type. I don’t acknowledge his presence and swiftly squeeze myself through the narrow streets and reach my school. 

The return after a long leave feels cold. The school appears very unwelcoming, as if I am a stranger it doesn't need anymore. The playground is quiet, and the hallways are deserted. Before going to the class, I need to meet up with the head principal to explain my unauthorised additional leave. I move hesitantly and I knock on her door, and she is surprised to see me. 

“Oh, look who's back to school. It's Sara,” she tells her assistant mockingly as she gestures for me to enter.

To cool her off, I pull out the sweet box from my bag and force it in front of her face first so that she would judge me less. She smiles, picks one hesitantly and thanks me for it. I feel hopeful that she will pardon me, and I will not have to face her wrath. 

“Sorry mam. I had to skip classes because I had…” I don't know what the right word will be to make it sound like I was held against my wishes. Suddenly I can't seem to think of any word at all. 

“Because you had more important things to do than to attend classes. Typical!” I know why she said that. She knows in Muslim households women don't prioritise school as much as they should. But she doesn't know me.

 

She doesn't know that I did not get everything so easily at home. I had to fight my way to get myself signed up even for the extracurricular classes because Baba said who cared for it anyway. He said, “All you must do is cook in the kitchen in the future. How will joining these classes help?” But Ma was straightforward. She said I could go as long as I didn't fool around and that too only until I got married. My bicycle came from my persistence that I would walk home instead. They were worried and the cycle appeared overnight. I know I am stubborn. But it's not a crime to deal with difficult parents this way. But for how long can I keep going on like this?

This is a part of Blogchatter A2Z2025 challenge

#penbooksandscalpel