NOT SO SWEET 16

SUNIDHI RAI

Copyright © Sunidhi Rai All Rights Reserved. This book has been published with all efforts taken to make the material errorfree after the consent of the author. However, the author and the publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause. While every effort has been made to avoid any mistake or omission, this publication is being sold on the condition and understanding that neither the author nor the publishers or printers would be liable in any manner to any person by reason of any mistake or omission in this publication or for any action taken or omitted to be taken or advice rendered or accepted on the basis of this work. For any defect in printing or binding the publishers will be liable only to replace the defective copy by another copy of this work then available.

This book is dedicated to my teenage years, please be over soon.

Contents Preface

vii

Acknowledgements

ix

1. Pilot

1

2. The Aunty Culture

4

3. The Uncle Culture

9

4. Padhoge Likhoge Banoge Nawab

11

5. Fear

15

6. Patriarchy At Its Best

19

7. Ancestral Trauma

22

8. Daddy Shark Dududududu

25

9. Mommy Shark Dudududu

28

10. Dimag Mera Ghar

32

11. Ladka Ladki Haye Haye!

38

12. The Secrecy

42

13. Libaz

46

14. Disgrace

50

15. Angry Men

54

16. “meri Baat Suno Mai Zyada Janta Hu” Aka Mansplaining

58

17. The Breakup Phase

60

18. Scandals

62

19. Moving On

64

20. Being Okay

66

You Is Where It All Starts And Halts

69

v

Preface The 16-17-year-olds in India are not very normal people. They stay awake at night and sleep in the daylight. Too much drama and so little time. The events listed here are my witnessed ones. Lucky me that my parents always stood with me and watched as the drama unfolded. Unlucky enough to watch my friends and cousins go through with it. Sexism never left my arena even with my parents having my back in a country like ours. Multiple schools, colleges, canteen, relatives, campus, any blindfolded picked-out street, biased and chauvinist society will be waiting for you to give up and kneel. This small piece of writing is filled with the rage of what a typical teen goes through. Consider it as a monologue whenever you see some 16-year old acting out. Pray peace upon them.

vii

Acknowledgements I would like to acknowledge my friends and foes who trusted me with their stories and let me in. I owe my lovely mother a big time who always pushed me to complete my writings and my dear father who made me who I am today with his wise words and support. These two people have been my constant strength and pillar.

ix

CHAPTER ONE

Pilot I hear a mild chirping sound through the window while I try waking up and yawning my face off. A herd of women comes and shrugs me off hard. “Do you have no shame left, your back is visible from the sheets. Cover it the fuck up as your phalana dhimkana uncle will be coming to this room in a minute. He needs to go to the washroom.” As I cover my back with my pajama and tee, I curse God for giving me my lady parts, I notice bloodstains. Shit. Now there is a race that I have to win with perfect timing and mind strategy. I have to cover the sheets and hide my butt while I do the walk of shame to the bathroom. I try wrapping my pad in utter complete silence because even the crinkling sound of the paper is embarrassing enough to make me wonder about the need of having a uterus. Why do paper fold as kshfgnfhh and not more like hushhhhhhh? The women of the house now know that someone is bleeding. Crazy how our sixth sense works. I move ahead of my self-loathing and pity to reach out to the nearest sanitary pad and god is not so good. The man enters. Uncle sees me wrapping a pad. I see uncle seeing me wrapping a pad. We both see each other. We both see each other seeing each other. The moment passes. I put a double lock on the door and a massive witch curse to not even let a demon see and enter while I detach and attach the pad. My head hurts because I made a man uncomfortable. The unforgivable. What a great kick start of dawn. Cannot wait to kill me. The mood is shit and humans around my not so belongings house seems demonic. The uterus scratching its way to bring me back to the bed is working. Brown people make sure wholeheartedly if you’re worthy of sympathy or not before giving out their pity. They generally do not waste their frownings. Those 5 days are not considered one of them. 1

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“Everyone goes through it na.” A running nose might gather more crowd but not a bleeding vagina. The guilt has its layers to de-traumatize. The guilt of making people around me uncomfortable. The guilt of feeling like I am making people around me uncomfortable. The guilt of making myself so small. The guilt of sharing a bloodline with such a-holes. The guilt of bleeding. The guilt of adding up to global warming by using the sanitary pad. The guilt and the guilt of guilts. While I walk around the house like the crooked man picking up and putting stuff down my mom asked to, the asses of men have glued to the couch with TVs on. My face is now full bitchy and now I am getting flying advice that I should be considering yoga by now as they thought it was a phase and it will pass but my face has now taken a proper shape of a bitch. I feel worried. I sit in the corner seat with a glass of water for my morning sanity and watch. Watch in dismay the circus the god forced me down into. My mom and aunties gossiped in sweat while rolling the rotis. My dad and uncles broke down the history of politics to make a point. Many may find this scene very wholesome but being a negative prick with realistic views lays down its own list of cons. It may come as a boomer to you but we all need to acknowledge the way this round globe weirdly works. Society doesn’t really like different personas. For example, remember how you just couldn’t help but look at that differently-abled person in the market the other day? The surrounding was filled with people who had two hands, two legs, perfect two sets of eyes, and then a different-looking man entered. Some made faces, some rolled their eyes, some showed pity and some thanked their gods for the perfect body they have. We don’t like different, even the most progressive ones dismay not so likely situations. So, when a child having different views is born, the long-running history of misogyny raises its concerns and makes sure the kid leads a stressful life. As I get up from my loathful thoughts, a long-gone bua approaches me to help her mold some gujiya while she tries to get the gossip out of me. “You must be having a boyfriend na, spit spit. You can trust me bacha I won’t be straying around and spreading your secret man.” That innocent bitch face convinced me for a second and I started calculating how much sanity it will cost me if she decides to switch sides. That moment ended with a punch on my gut when I remembered how my 2

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favorite cousin warned me to never trust a living relative. I shrugged off the topic by making her think that I loathe the idea of relationships. Wait. I am not even in a relationship. Why was the inner me so suspicious? We do not get questions much related to what we are academically pursuing. Even if we do, the first follow-up advice always gets intervened with some moral policing on how we shouldn’t fuck up the great brown privilege we have as a girl where a similar me is getting married off and here I am talking to some dip shit. No one should feel like they are getting punished to be born as a certain gender. Feeling this way 24/7 around your own house with the people you are supposed to love can be a damaging thing. Every day is a red wedding game of thrones day when you live under the surveillance of your parents. The hide and seek we play unwillingly and yet compulsively is just very downhearted and out of sorts. People seek freedom in the biggest of luxuries for some reason. I am not free. I am not. My friends are not. I don’t feel free. I feel like I was raised to answer whoever was put in charge of me and that is not fair. India is free. I am not.

3

CHAPTER TWO

The aunty culture Leaving the house for the date you’re having, happy and sound. Excited and scared to the point that you think you are going to shit yourself. So you leave. Leave like the princess in blue, hanging your hands in the air and twitching your way through. As you wait for the uber, you decide to have a look at the oddly shining sun and weather. You don’t want to sweat in front of your date now, do you? So you raise your brows and see some aunties lurking through their windows. As much as you want to raise hell on their faces, you decide to let your smile do for now. They tauntingly ask you where you are heading to looking so flimsy. You say it’s a friend who’s sick that you are visiting and they don’t believe you. Of course. You know the topic of gossip for two days in leap will be you leaving your house in pretty clothes. Now what you are thinking is whether or not this gossip will reach your mom. You can see the holy mimid spirits of your soon-to-be date flying away from your beautiful fake consciousness. It is said in traditional households that you shouldn’t continue your journey if a black cat crosses your way. It is considered a bad omen. These aunties right here are the black cruel filthy cats of society. Rotting and poking young minds. Remove the aunty culture from India and I assure you this country will heal itself. No Patanjali needed. I have seen my folks sweating in anxiety when I wear a slightly revealing dress where my navel is showing. The things running up their minds are embarrassing. They actually do the visualization in their brains where they see their kid walking onto the street wearing the same awful dress and endless consequences that may follow their child. They see the 45-year-old fat woman pointing me out through her veranda. My mom sees them talking about me to the rest of the world. She sees the rickshawala noticing me. She sees the world noticing me. Apparently, the world has forgotten about the 4

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big oil problems and my navel showing is the crisis now. She is scared that the next time she decides to socialize out of boredom with the women of the colony, she will be taunted. She is anxious that society might think their freedom given to me might have done me some wrong. She then orders me to go and change. I feel icky. This pointing out makes me feel like a lousy stupid shitty diarrhea-prone person who just wants to show around. Even if the person telling you to change how to dress is your own mom or any elderly figure you look up to, it is still humiliating. The person basically is saying that you are not yet sane enough to know what looks decent on you. It makes you feel less worthy of a person. You have to have an idea of how much power a group of 5-6 women of 45+ age holds. The negativity and jealousness they carry along with the excessive fat in their bellies need to be shed. Shakuni died and his soul found its peace in multiple idle women longing to kill you mentally. Every Indian is trying their best to make a good impression on the aunties to stay away from their extra trouble and utter evil. They are like that cruel king we were taught about in school. People are scared that they might start and fume a rumor that may damage their non-existing reputation. No one wants to risk any of it. These aunties are a shit show. Their own husbands are sick of them and there is absolutely no sex life. So now they make sure that no kid in the colony is getting any as well. They sit in their verandas with hot tea and pakoras right after the husband leaves and she whooped the ass of her own kid for not showering with shampoos. She is the watchdog we don’t even know we have. She is the reality TV judge we never appointed. She marks and gives us grades. The worst feeling is that when you start imagining life without these monstrous ladies and you realize how easier everything would have been. You would have worn that sleeveless top without your mom making you cry about it. You would have kicked the football wearing comfy shorts of yours. You would have taken your shot at your colony crush. You would have done so much. It never sat right with me when I got to realize how much my own people care about these fat fucks. Constantly trying to make them realize how wrong they are and how they need to start hanging out with a better circle. I once tried brain cleansing my dadi about her having a better group to hang out with. My dadi sits back. Takes her chai’s sip. Takes another sip and tells me to fuck off. 5

What do pre-teen ducks hate? Voice quacks. This book is filled with many rants and rage for everyone whose pre-teen and early adulthood times were a piece of work. An attempt is made here to make us all feel seen and heard and make up for the times of perplexity and doubt. You are your own protagonist in this book. By the end of it, you will feel like your 16-year-old self is giving you a hug.

Sunidhi, an army brat, born and brought up in multiple cities, is now completing her graduation in journalism and mass communication. Her love for writing and ranting went hand-in-hand until many people came together and forced her to finally document it. Sunidhi’s inspiration mostly comes from what she observes around her keenly. She hails from Bihar and a family where the father is an ex-air force officer and a lovely mother who teaches Sanskrit.

Not So sweet 16

Price 110