FOREIGN OBJECTS

I am still contemplating talking to someone at home about this. It’s not just about the pair of eyes gleaming behind the window or the endless blank calls that have started annoying everyone at home. Salim initially didn’t have the guts to face me after troubling me endlessly. But slowly, he began making reappearances. First, at his usual spot, hidden behind the tea shop, waiting for me for God knows how long. Even when I managed to leave for school early, he was there. How did he get to know my schedule, and how long does he wait daily? What he does after I reach my class or home is still a mystery. Isn’t he in senior class? Won’t his teachers be angry for being late for school every day or skipping class? I have no idea if anyone else has noticed him doing this. Ma had already mentioned him once at home when Bhabhi wanted to go grocery shopping. She asked her to stay vigilant as Salim was seen wandering around. But I couldn’t tell Ma that it was me who he was following around. I felt scared. She would stop me from leaving home if I did. 

 

But now things are going haywire. A new object comes my way every day, sometimes hidden among the notebooks inside my bag, sometimes on my way home and occasionally in the washroom lying by the sink untouched. Every object came with ‘SS’ marked on it, and that’s how I knew it was meant for me from Salim. Once, it was a tiny Taj Mahal, once a blue Parker pen, and one time, it was a single rose with a card on it. He may have thought that I would be impressed. But every time I spot them, I get irked. It’s frustrating how boys think girls get wooed by doing such things. I don’t like him and have always been clear about it. But he doesn’t seem to give up. He thinks he can win me over with such gifts. I have no idea how he puts them inside my bag.

 

Today, it has gone way too far as I find a keychain with a small note by my door as I open it. God forbid if my parents were the first to open that door, they would have thrown me out the very moment. I fling it across the lawn in a fit of rage and stomp without looking back. Unlike other days, I reach school faster because I don’t stop on the way and pedal aggressively. I was meaning to smash his head if I were to find him on the way. But luckily, I don’t. 

 

The classes bore me as usual, and I am asleep half the time. My teacher tries desperately to get my attention but fails. I feel sorry for her sometimes because whenever it’s social class, more than half the class sleeps. She knows, yet she doesn’t do anything except raise her voice occasionally. Maybe she realises social science is boring after all. I excuse myself for the washroom when it’s time for her class to wind up. I smother my face with water and rub my eyes repeatedly. Then I wipe it squeaky clean with my dupatta. I walk back to the class and find Christy chatting to Nicki next to my seat. She makes a weird face and returns to her own as soon as I reach. We don’t see each other again.

 

Nivi seems to have lost her bindi and asks me if I can draw a small ‘o’ on her forehead between her eyebrows and colour it red with my pen. I reach for my red pen, praying another unknown foreign object doesn’t land on my desk or bag. But there it is. Something teeny-tiny, the size of my fist. I feel it for a few seconds and tug it out to see a ceramic doll with a red heart painted on it where the heart is supposed to be. I have no idea how it got here, but I know who it is from. I wonder how much money he has for wasting it all on me. I turn to toss it into the bin, but I see Christy looking intently at me with her eyebrows raised. Her face changes as I catch her watching me. She fumbles and goes back to her book as I keep looking. She looks again at me now with hope and gloominess masking her face. And I realise who has helped Salim all along. At least, I know it’s Christy. I smash the doll against the floor to teach her a lesson, and she winces. At this moment, I abhor her. I know she hates me, too. 

 

This is a part of Blogchatter A2Z2025

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