This weekend, Sep 16th marked the birthday of a close friend but the disappearance day of someone very near and dear to me, she has be known only by her initials that I used to call her by, AK. I have written about her before, but I would be remiss not to mention her today. She is someone who I would not have thought would have such profound impression on me when we met first. She and I were both sort of refugees moving into Chennai together. She moved from Bahrain and I from Kuwait. Both of our lives converged in Chennai at PS Senior Secondary School.

In Kuwait, it being a Gulf country, much more conservative in the early 90s, we had been segmented in our co-ed school in shifts for boys and another for girls, there would be a brief meeting point where there were limited interactions especially when we came out of school buses and girls boarded it. But socially there were really no limitations outside of school as families interacted quite frequently during the weekends, all extracurricular classes were co-ed and I for one, had a sister and her friends who I interacted with quite quickly.

Whereas in Chennai, which was far more conservative, there were no strict written rules, but the school, even though co-ed had some unwritten norms about dressing, interaction, seating, etc. These were passed on from grade to grade and differed based on your class teacher, the modern outlook of those coming into the batches and even the 2nd language! Hindi learners were somehow more forward than Tamil learners and those learning Sanskrit were somewhere in between. The reason these mattered was that kids were separated in sections based on their second language. The “A” section was for those taking 2nd language Hindi, C for Tamil, D for Sanskrit and B was like a special-ed class that had students learning multiple languages but were in need for special attention.

These strict norms went for a toss in 1990 when an influx from the Gulf brought in kids who were all 2nd language Hindi but could not be bunched into one classroom. AK and I were two of those kids in 8th grade. She was allotted into the B section with the “special-ed” kids and I went into “C” with the more conservative Tamil learners. We both met at the Hindi class where we would go into the “A” section and take our place in the floor right underneath the teacher’s nose. The teacher here, Mrs. P Geetha had a long nose, thank heavens! On the ground, there was no possibility of segmentation of boys and girls, so we took our spots wherever we could. In terms of the distance, the B and C sections were furthest from the A section for some weird reason, so AK and I would be almost the last two coming into class. I needed to get seated as close to the black board as possible since I was visually challenged and did not have glasses (long story!) and she was an eager learner. So, somehow or the other, we took places right next to each other on the floor in the first few classes, and then it became routine.

Even though I was sitting right next to the board, I still occasionally could not see anything on the board. So, I would tap her and ask, “hey what is that word next to..”. To her credit, not once did she suspect my intentions. She might have taken some pity, but never showed it. She just would answer me in a matter-of-fact way, with her gentle voice, telling me what the word is. Sometimes, to avoid getting caught with Mrs. P Geetha, she would just nudge her notes to help me copy them directly. That helped a lot, her clear and beautiful handwriting was much easier to read than the smudged up chalk on the black board. I was as blind as a bat in daylight. For the duration of the class, I would be in bliss, just staring at her notes. I was a nerd, and did not stare elsewhere or have any other intentions. I think she knew that and was a self assured person.

There were some occasions when she was absent or I would come in later than her, I would seek desperately to sit next to her, but could not. Those were terrible and I did not feel the urge to ask others the way I asked her. But I would approach her on our way back to our respective classes, “Hey AK.. can I please borrow your notebook, I promise I will return it during our ride back home on the school bus”. She would without hesitation give it to me with a smile. That kindness, compassion and large heart is what makes me miss her to this day. Over the 3 years, our friendship would deepen in its own subtle, mostly unspoken, non-categorized, sweet way. But little did I expect I would recount these memories on her disappearance day each year.

Miss you AK, miss you loads, maybe a little more every year. Hope to copy from your notebook of compassion, kindness and spirit.

This weekend, Sep 16th marked the birthday of a close friend but the disappearance day of someone very near and dear to me, she has be known only by her initials that I used to call her by, AK. I have written about her before, but I would be remiss not to mention her today. She is someone who I would not have thought would have such profound impression on me when we met first. She and I were both sort of refugees moving into Chennai together. She moved from Bahrain and I from Kuwait. Both of our lives converged in Chennai at PS Senior Secondary School.

In Kuwait, it being a Gulf country, much more conservative in the early 90s, we had been segmented in our co-ed school in shifts for boys and another for girls, there would be a brief meeting point where there were limited interactions especially when we came out of school buses and girls boarded it. But socially there were really no limitations outside of school as families interacted quite frequently during the weekends, all extracurricular classes were co-ed and I for one, had a sister and her friends who I interacted with quite quickly.

Whereas in Chennai, which was far more conservative, there were no strict written rules, but the school, even though co-ed had some unwritten norms about dressing, interaction, seating, etc. These were passed on from grade to grade and differed based on your class teacher, the modern outlook of those coming into the batches and even the 2nd language! Hindi learners were somehow more forward than Tamil learners and those learning Sanskrit were somewhere in between. The reason these mattered was that kids were separated in sections based on their second language. The “A” section was for those taking 2nd language Hindi, C for Tamil, D for Sanskrit and B was like a special-ed class that had students learning multiple languages but were in need for special attention.

These strict norms went for a toss in 1990 when an influx from the Gulf brought in kids who were all 2nd language Hindi but could not be bunched into one classroom. AK and I were two of those kids in 8th grade. She was allotted into the B section with the “special-ed” kids and I went into “C” with the more conservative Tamil learners. We both met at the Hindi class where we would go into the “A” section and take our place in the floor right underneath the teacher’s nose. The teacher here, Mrs. P Geetha had a long nose, thank heavens! On the ground, there was no possibility of segmentation of boys and girls, so we took our spots wherever we could. In terms of the distance, the B and C sections were furthest from the A section for some weird reason, so AK and I would be almost the last two coming into class. I needed to get seated as close to the black board as possible since I was visually challenged and did not have glasses (long story!) and she was an eager learner. So, somehow or the other, we took places right next to each other on the floor in the first few classes, and then it became routine.

Even though I was sitting right next to the board, I still occasionally could not see anything on the board. So, I would tap her and ask, “hey what is that word next to..”. To her credit, not once did she suspect my intentions. She might have taken some pity, but never showed it. She just would answer me in a matter-of-fact way, with her gentle voice, telling me what the word is. Sometimes, to avoid getting caught with Mrs. P Geetha, she would just nudge her notes to help me copy them directly. That helped a lot, her clear and beautiful handwriting was much easier to read than the smudged up chalk on the black board. I was as blind as a bat in daylight. For the duration of the class, I would be in bliss, just staring at her notes. I was a nerd, and did not stare elsewhere or have any other intentions. I think she knew that and was a self assured person.

There were some occasions when she was absent or I would come in later than her, I would seek desperately to sit next to her, but could not. Those were terrible and I did not feel the urge to ask others the way I asked her. But I would approach her on our way back to our respective classes, “Hey AK.. can I please borrow your notebook, I promise I will return it during our ride back home on the school bus”. She would without hesitation give it to me with a smile. That kindness, compassion and large heart is what makes me miss her to this day. Over the 3 years, our friendship would deepen in its own subtle, mostly unspoken, non-categorized, sweet way. But little did I expect I would recount these memories on her disappearance day each year.

Miss you AK, miss you loads, maybe a little more every year. Hope to copy from your notebook of compassion, kindness and spirit.