But though Dickens did not show this in Great Expectations, human emotions cannot last very long and back to the same school in standard 11, I happily settled down with my friends again. Fancy boarding school or not, I had college to look forward to. We spent class hours passing notes, worried over the future prospects after every dismal test result, talked over the phone for hours, dated somebody for a while, broke all rules, and rebelled against the system- u know; normal teenage stuff. Final year at school started soon and passed even sooner. Delhi University was where I was going and St. Stephens College was where I would study English to become a journalist. It was all decided and the world conspiring together couldn't change it. My friends were obviously coming with me, and Soni, Aaku, Syapa Singh and I had everything chalked out. The type of flat we would rent, who would cook on which days, how we would divide the other chores- it was all planned and decided.
Board exams came. My invigilator, a dear old paranoid piece of hanging skin put his frail arm up to block the entrance of the examination hall as I walked in. He pointed at the white powder in a plastic box and the strange instrument I was carrying with me and gestured for me to leave it outside. I tried explaining to him the life-saving status that the glucose and glucometer held in my world and when he wasn’t convinced, I asked him to write and sign a letter stating that he would take full responsibility if I were to drop into a coma during the middle of the exam due to low blood sugar and that he would finish my exam and ensure I get a 90 per cent plus. The old skin was not amused and after making me stand on one side while he consulted our school teacher, he finally let me take the exam.
The give-in-writing technique really works. I have used it for carrying sasta alcohol inside a disc and for carrying aloo paranthas inside a PVR in Delhi. With pickle.
Back to school, the exams flew by without any serious diabetes incident. Before I could say “school is almost over”, school was over. We cried and got sentimental at everything. We filled in slam books and signed each other’s t-shirts. Results were declared and I was sure I would get through Stephens. It was all going by the plan. I was 18, about to begin college, looking forward to being on my own with close friends and away from home and parents to grow out of the protective shell and learn who I really was.
Who was I kidding?
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Friday, July 4, 2008
The best boarding school in the country that is not open to diabetics...
I switched school in class 9 and found it quite nice and relaxed. I was able to be myself there. I did not make a big deal of my diabetes and hence nobody else did. I made wonderful friends. One time, a friend of mine retorted to a sarcastic remark by saying that if I bothered him anymore, he would shove an entire packet of sugar down my throat! So it was all good. I was a diabetic but I was their friend first.
I had thought of joining the best boarding school for girls here in Dehradun for intermediate or +2, if I scored well in class 10 boards, and when I did, I was elated. The woman at the school’s admission office was elated too, and said among all applicants, my scores were the highest so I would get a scholarship. Life was perfect. I submitted my form and documents. Went back home and got a call an hour later from the same, elated woman. Except that now she sounded sour and not very happy. “I am sorry but we can’t offer you a place at the school, Ms. Kakkar.” What? I wasn’t sure if we were close enough to play pranks on each-other. “Why?” I asked. “We cannot take responsibility of a diabetic at the boarding school.” I realized what hysteria was that day. I demanded to meet with the principal immediately and the woman, guessing that I would start tearing the world apart, relented. I went to the school without bothering to inform my folks. As I entered the reception area, I said I wished to meet with the principal. There was another woman there now, and she looked at me and asked if I was the diabetic? I looked at her angrily and said yes, I am the diabetic who is the highest scorer among all applicants.
The principal was an educated, respectable old woman as most ignorant, abiding-by-the-rule-be-it-right-or-wrong people in the world today are. I remember the exact conversation as I remember the dialogues of my favourite movie.
“So Shweta”, she began. “I am very impressed to see your grades and would have loved for you to be a part of the school. Believe me, it is the school’s loss in rejecting your application but we absolutely cannot take responsibility of a diabetic child. It is not you, it is your diabetes.” “My diabetes and I are not separate things”, was all I could say before I left.
I was hurt and angry. I did not fight, I did not argue. I just could not. I was not sure if I would ever be allowed to do what I wanted to, to fulfil my dreams and to be a student, a professional and a person along with being a diabetic. It was a bitter experience, one that I am not over till today. It was unfair then and it will always be unfair.
The issue of equality in schools is being discussed and debated over fervently today, but even then this particular school, ranked amongst the best in the country continues to discriminate. My parents later went to speak with the principal and even went so far as to offer to give in writing that the school would not be held responsible if something happened to me. It may not seem like a wise choice to offer something so dangerous but they took this desperate measure because I was completely and absolutely broken.
There are certain things that you can never laugh about, down the line and this is one of them.
I had thought of joining the best boarding school for girls here in Dehradun for intermediate or +2, if I scored well in class 10 boards, and when I did, I was elated. The woman at the school’s admission office was elated too, and said among all applicants, my scores were the highest so I would get a scholarship. Life was perfect. I submitted my form and documents. Went back home and got a call an hour later from the same, elated woman. Except that now she sounded sour and not very happy. “I am sorry but we can’t offer you a place at the school, Ms. Kakkar.” What? I wasn’t sure if we were close enough to play pranks on each-other. “Why?” I asked. “We cannot take responsibility of a diabetic at the boarding school.” I realized what hysteria was that day. I demanded to meet with the principal immediately and the woman, guessing that I would start tearing the world apart, relented. I went to the school without bothering to inform my folks. As I entered the reception area, I said I wished to meet with the principal. There was another woman there now, and she looked at me and asked if I was the diabetic? I looked at her angrily and said yes, I am the diabetic who is the highest scorer among all applicants.
The principal was an educated, respectable old woman as most ignorant, abiding-by-the-rule-be-it-right-or-wrong people in the world today are. I remember the exact conversation as I remember the dialogues of my favourite movie.
“So Shweta”, she began. “I am very impressed to see your grades and would have loved for you to be a part of the school. Believe me, it is the school’s loss in rejecting your application but we absolutely cannot take responsibility of a diabetic child. It is not you, it is your diabetes.” “My diabetes and I are not separate things”, was all I could say before I left.
I was hurt and angry. I did not fight, I did not argue. I just could not. I was not sure if I would ever be allowed to do what I wanted to, to fulfil my dreams and to be a student, a professional and a person along with being a diabetic. It was a bitter experience, one that I am not over till today. It was unfair then and it will always be unfair.
The issue of equality in schools is being discussed and debated over fervently today, but even then this particular school, ranked amongst the best in the country continues to discriminate. My parents later went to speak with the principal and even went so far as to offer to give in writing that the school would not be held responsible if something happened to me. It may not seem like a wise choice to offer something so dangerous but they took this desperate measure because I was completely and absolutely broken.
There are certain things that you can never laugh about, down the line and this is one of them.
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