A long, long time ago, there was a girl called B.Swathi, and then there was Me. We were in school, 4th grade.
B. Swathi was all that a 10 year old kid like me would be interested in emulating.
Her parents were doctors.
My dad worked in the “office” and ma was a “housewife”.
B.Swathi had a maid who used to come right at the lunch break with sandwiches, orange juice with a sipper and paper napkins.
I used to carry a haldi-stained lunchbox with parantha oil dripping from the corners.
B.Swathi had white teeth, sparkling like crystals in a Swarovski showroom.
I had teeth which were sure to horrify me for the rest of my life.
B.Swathi wore long, silky plats with satin ribbons.
Mine was an oiled beehive hairdo.
B.Swathi had healthy, plump shiny nails.
Mine were habitually chewed, red and crooked.
B. Swathi spoke English. Grammatically correct, polished English.
I only wrote the kind which was enough to score a 7/10 in our English dictation.
May be this small list of “difference between” was why, when all our pep talks were over and teachers were around us, B.Swathi pretended not to be associated with me!
In a nutshell, B. Swathi terrified Me! It had gone unspoken, but deep down I silently used to ask myself “Seriously..Don’t you so very envy her life?”
B.Swathi left school in 5th grade to go to the “best” school in Delhi. But, for as long as I remember, I never forgot her.
Swathi...I don’t hate you, not anymore! I don’t try to be like you and you are not my “model-person” in life, any longer. And all those things that were a big deal then, so as I thought; are not important this day!
Even today I am raw. But I am real and have been the best I could be. I just wonder how you have grown up to be.