I've been reading your newsletter every time you post it, but don't usually find time to respond (or indeed have much to say by way of response...) This time, however, I am inspired.
What a lovely picture! If you have a higher res version you can share, I would love to have it.
It was interesting to read your perspective on some of the strange colorist, sexist chants and games we played at that age, but I think your implied assessment that we were unaware of their meaning is a bit simplistic. I think it is more that we were not yet at a stage where we had a framework to reject them. I mean, there was this game, that had come from somewhere. It is a little weird, but how do you get from there to saying that you do not want to play it? Or at least, perhaps I should not speak for the others, but that was how it was for me. It was all part of the same package as "don't say you are an atheist" and "don't say you like math" and so many other such things. Because then, suddenly you might find yourself with no friends... It took me a long time to shed that baggage (to the extent that I have shed it.)
I also found your story about "bowing to the prettiest" quite interesting. I do not remember that incident, or even that particular game. Was I there? Anyway, once again I wonder whether there is more at play than your interpretation. It is certainly very true that Indian girls are inculcated with the idea that fair is beautiful, and there was probably at least some of that going on. But keep in mind we had all known each other nearly since birth. We had our politics and our shifting alliances. As a newcomer, you were exotic. everyone would have wanted you on side. And everyone would have wanted to make you feel welcome. (Probably everyone would also have been told to make you feel welcome, but that is a separate matter.) In support of my theory, I'll mention that there was a Korean visitor another year who received similar adoration.
Anyway, thank you for the trip down memory lane. I look at the picture and realize that I don't really know what has happened to any of those girls (except one who died young in tragic circumstances). You are the only one from that group that I am even remotely "still in touch with", even if that only means exchanging birthday wishes every three-ish years.
Looking forward to your next newsletter, and honestly, your next book!
Varsha! I'm so, so happy to hear from you! Thank you for sharing your perspective. You're right--I did make this sound much more simplistic than it is, and I hope I didn't offend. I know it's much more complicated and layered. I think your take is spot-on: none of us, really, had the framework with which to assess these games/words, where they came from, or what they really meant for any of us. But I do recall feeling, in that moment, singled out in a way I was uncomfortable with, and I think it stood out to me because I was always so at ease with our group. I felt totally accepted, and that was a relief, especially after a school day spent with kids who, having established within a few days that I was not that interesting and not of their social class despite being from Paris, dropped me like a hot potato. It's hard to recall exactly what I thought in the moment, and it's all through the lens of having always felt, in any of my homes--France, the US, India--both an insider and an outsider at the same time. I appreciate what you say about the visitor being exotic and subject to some adoration. I've seen that play out in other contexts, too.
The photo of our group is a grainy hard copy in one of my old photo albums. I took a photo of the picture with my phone. I can try to take a better one, but I doubt it will be much clearer! Still, I can send it to you by email. I remember all the girls in it, I think. Aarti and Pooja, yes? And Kalyani and Kaberi. And Manisha. (She had an older sister, Manuja.) I've often wanted to track down Manisha but I don't even recall her last name. Maybe one day she'll chance upon this site and find me.
I hope you are well, and I look forward to further conversation. And I, too, look forward to my next book being out in the world! Thanks for reading this newsletter, and staying on my mailing list all these years. I really appreciate it.
Yes, front to back, Pooja, Arti, Kalyani, Manisha, Kaberi and me :). I suppose you must have been taking the picture.
I *think* it was Manisha Chaturvedi, but I'm not sure that is helpful as there are more than 100 women by that name on LinkedIn, and possibly more on FB. If I remember correctly, they moved away shortly after your year there.
I never realized that your time at school was anything less than halcyon. I remember sitting by on more than one occasion, watching you do your homework and thinking it was so much more interesting than mine! Maybe just a case of greener grass.
It is strange to hear you describe your sense of not fitting in. To me you always seemed so self-assured. I guess it is funny how one (or at least I) never ascribes to others the same hopes and fears and insecurities one feels oneself. I have to tell you though, that the year you spent in Bombay was one that that I recall with great fondness. And I believe that I still have five or so years' worth of letters you wrote me from Paris, in a box somewhere...
Dear Anjali,
I've been reading your newsletter every time you post it, but don't usually find time to respond (or indeed have much to say by way of response...) This time, however, I am inspired.
What a lovely picture! If you have a higher res version you can share, I would love to have it.
It was interesting to read your perspective on some of the strange colorist, sexist chants and games we played at that age, but I think your implied assessment that we were unaware of their meaning is a bit simplistic. I think it is more that we were not yet at a stage where we had a framework to reject them. I mean, there was this game, that had come from somewhere. It is a little weird, but how do you get from there to saying that you do not want to play it? Or at least, perhaps I should not speak for the others, but that was how it was for me. It was all part of the same package as "don't say you are an atheist" and "don't say you like math" and so many other such things. Because then, suddenly you might find yourself with no friends... It took me a long time to shed that baggage (to the extent that I have shed it.)
I also found your story about "bowing to the prettiest" quite interesting. I do not remember that incident, or even that particular game. Was I there? Anyway, once again I wonder whether there is more at play than your interpretation. It is certainly very true that Indian girls are inculcated with the idea that fair is beautiful, and there was probably at least some of that going on. But keep in mind we had all known each other nearly since birth. We had our politics and our shifting alliances. As a newcomer, you were exotic. everyone would have wanted you on side. And everyone would have wanted to make you feel welcome. (Probably everyone would also have been told to make you feel welcome, but that is a separate matter.) In support of my theory, I'll mention that there was a Korean visitor another year who received similar adoration.
Anyway, thank you for the trip down memory lane. I look at the picture and realize that I don't really know what has happened to any of those girls (except one who died young in tragic circumstances). You are the only one from that group that I am even remotely "still in touch with", even if that only means exchanging birthday wishes every three-ish years.
Looking forward to your next newsletter, and honestly, your next book!
With love,
Varsha
Varsha! I'm so, so happy to hear from you! Thank you for sharing your perspective. You're right--I did make this sound much more simplistic than it is, and I hope I didn't offend. I know it's much more complicated and layered. I think your take is spot-on: none of us, really, had the framework with which to assess these games/words, where they came from, or what they really meant for any of us. But I do recall feeling, in that moment, singled out in a way I was uncomfortable with, and I think it stood out to me because I was always so at ease with our group. I felt totally accepted, and that was a relief, especially after a school day spent with kids who, having established within a few days that I was not that interesting and not of their social class despite being from Paris, dropped me like a hot potato. It's hard to recall exactly what I thought in the moment, and it's all through the lens of having always felt, in any of my homes--France, the US, India--both an insider and an outsider at the same time. I appreciate what you say about the visitor being exotic and subject to some adoration. I've seen that play out in other contexts, too.
The photo of our group is a grainy hard copy in one of my old photo albums. I took a photo of the picture with my phone. I can try to take a better one, but I doubt it will be much clearer! Still, I can send it to you by email. I remember all the girls in it, I think. Aarti and Pooja, yes? And Kalyani and Kaberi. And Manisha. (She had an older sister, Manuja.) I've often wanted to track down Manisha but I don't even recall her last name. Maybe one day she'll chance upon this site and find me.
I hope you are well, and I look forward to further conversation. And I, too, look forward to my next book being out in the world! Thanks for reading this newsletter, and staying on my mailing list all these years. I really appreciate it.
Love to you,
Anjali
Yes, front to back, Pooja, Arti, Kalyani, Manisha, Kaberi and me :). I suppose you must have been taking the picture.
I *think* it was Manisha Chaturvedi, but I'm not sure that is helpful as there are more than 100 women by that name on LinkedIn, and possibly more on FB. If I remember correctly, they moved away shortly after your year there.
I never realized that your time at school was anything less than halcyon. I remember sitting by on more than one occasion, watching you do your homework and thinking it was so much more interesting than mine! Maybe just a case of greener grass.
It is strange to hear you describe your sense of not fitting in. To me you always seemed so self-assured. I guess it is funny how one (or at least I) never ascribes to others the same hopes and fears and insecurities one feels oneself. I have to tell you though, that the year you spent in Bombay was one that that I recall with great fondness. And I believe that I still have five or so years' worth of letters you wrote me from Paris, in a box somewhere...
Talk again sometime.