Just a 7-letter word.

What does freedom mean to you?

I had spent most of my school days with the younger sibling and between hanging out with her, and going to the gym, I hadn’t bothered to make friends. Then came 1^st Year of Preuniversity in the Sciences and I joined the NCC and happily derailed myself. After a lot of pleading, when I got a second chance at the same institution in the Humanities stream, I was determined to make friends, stick through the classes, and make good on my promise to complete the course.

Getting to know one another and building trust, is probably a basic step in making friends and this was a big one for me. To be honest, I was super happy with having the younger sibling as a friend, we were thick as thieves, con women of repute and nothing could tear us apart. Apart from the separation caused by the pursuit of education. So, here I was, age 16, introducing myself and trying to make friends, inserting myself in conversations, trying to get into cliques that had been created in schools. In some instances, the entire group was in preuniversity together, in some others, similar interests in sports and music got them together. I liked sports, I was good at it, but it wasn’t something everyone was aware of. Gymnastics. And when I said so, I always got the big eyes of surprise and a “WOW! So, you can somersault and walk on that thin wooden beam?” and that was it. We had nothing to discuss. Conversations ended. I would not even qualify as an acquaintance. Gymnastics was all-consuming, so I had never had the opportunity to learn, watch, or even show cursory interest in any other sport.

The only other conversation starters used to be discussing music videos on Channel V and MTV.  We never had a working TV for most of my high school, so my interest in music was fostered by the oldest sibling bringing home mix tapes from college. Simon and Garfunkel, Jethro Tull, Pink Floyd, Deep Purple, when the rage was NSYNC, Back Street Boys, Boyz 2 Men, and Boyzone. And these were just audio tapes. I had no idea about the videos for these songs. Not having the means to set up a conversation, kind of limits your attempts at trying to make friends. I did raise this with the oldest sibling, and her advice was, “This is music. Your classmates are just listening to boring boy bands, just ignore them, they have no taste”. It’s tough to make friends when your taste in music does not match. It’s tougher to make friends if you attempt to start a conversation by telling them, they have poor taste in music. You can imagine how that conversation went.

Post the mid-term vacations, I met a few of my classmates who used to walk to college from their hostel. The hostel was in between my home and the college. A happy stumbling coincidence, that introduced me to the oddballs in my class. This happy group of girls were from states in the North and Northeast of India. They were friendly. Did not care about sports. Or my lack of knowledge of them. Liked similar music. But did not care if I did not share the same playlists. And they were also always on the lookout for the cheapest places to eat at. We hit it off almost instantly. A few of them had boyfriends, but this seemed to be more of a relationship that relocated with them from their home state. It never mattered to me. I would attend classes, and then hang out with these girls in their hostel until curfew, and then head home. My first group of friends were not the ‘popular’ girls in class, or the most studious. And once I started hanging out with them, some of the other girls in class made the effort to have a conversation. All it had taken was a stumble.

It was around this time that concerts were a big thing in my hometown. Apart from the super studious students, almost all my classmates attended the dance parties hosted by DJs. These were typically held in huge open spaces and were either sponsored by a particular hotel/restaurant or had an individual sponsor. I could not play most sports, but as a trained Rhythmic Gymnast I could dance. And I was curious about these gatherings. I did not dare to attend the more popular events, for two very important reasons, the first being, that those events were always super expensive, and second, I knew the older sibling would be attending them. I did not want to tag along, like a spare wheel, I wanted to go on my own and see what it was all about. So, I picked an event that I knew would be low-key and paid for my entrance. We never had pocket money, but I saved money when I opted to walk to college, so I saved up enough to pay my way. I had only thought as far as getting in. I had carried lunch to college, so that worked as my dinner. The parents had not been informed that I was going out dancing, I only had permission to stay at the hostel. I tried enquiring with the sibling about her evening plans without hinting at what mine were. And based on her responses, I was confident she would not be at that event. The deal with my friends was, that we go Dutch (pay or respective individual ways) and pay for some part of the gas and there would be a group of boys and girls that went together. On motorbikes.

I reached the location. The sheer size and scale of the setup took my breath away. The crazy number of motorbikes and cars in that parking space made me wonder what rabbit hole I had slipped into. I had no clue there were so many vehicles in my hometown, let alone so many teenagers with a similar idea. I envied them. I was confident that at the very least half of them had proper permission in place to come for an event like this. And that by itself was such a confidence booster. And here I was, who had a partial confirmation that my sibling would not be here, yet, hiding and skulking in the shadows hoping to not run into any of her friends. The music was electrifying, the beats, the acoustics- it just got you in the groove as you neared the tents. Feeling slightly confident, I danced for about an hour, and when I got tired, I decided to stand in the side and catch my breath. I had no money to buy water, so soft drinks were out of the question and alcohol was not something I ever indulged in.

Roughly ten minutes after I stood to catch my breath, a guy stumbled past me. I was in the shadows, and he was skulking around me. Making me feel uncomfortable. Then he stepped into the light. Oops! It was a friend of my sibling. Mentally slapping my forehead, I knew I had been caught out! With no permissions. That guy probably had the best intentions, but I haven’t ever forgiven him. It took him all of 10 seconds to bring the sibling over. My one night of truancy ended even before Cinderella got to her ball. I stepped out for a private conversation in a public space teeming with strangers. It wasn’t a pleasant conversation for her. Or me. It may have ended differently if she had issued a warning and let me enjoy the rest of the evening. But her protective instincts kicked in, and she let me make my excuses to my friends and decided to take me to a 24-hour coffee shop at one of the high-end restaurants in town. I was fed. And we waited, until around 7 am, which was a decent hour for her to drop me off back home.

Dad was up. He saw me getting dropped off. He was surprised because he assumed I was at the hostel and would only return later that day. I was done with the deceit. It hadn’t worked the one night I wanted it to. And I gained nothing but an entire night of sitting silently in a public restaurant. I just confessed. I had no idea what the consequences would be, but eventually, the sibling returned, Mum was called, and a just punishment was announced. I was a few months short of turning 18 and so my punishment was that I was grounded until then. As the quintessential teenager with the raging hormones, I was livid. I felt the punishment was not justified. I was not to hang out with my friends- the ones I had made with a lot of effort. And I only had permission to go to college and get back home. My parents knew my timetable and my curfew was 5 pm.

The following day, explaining the situation briefly to my friends and then apologizing for abandoning them only made me feel worse. Witnessing the drama unfold in front of them, made them as awkward as me. Their pity only heightened my feeling of abandonment. Mustering up all the courage I had, I walked away from them. It took a lot of effort, but I stuck to the rules of my punishment although I knew I was not monitored. I continued to walk back home, so I could save money. I just changed the route so I wouldn’t go past the hostel. I was back to doing my solo walks. Every step heading back home every evening was heavy. I counted the minutes, hours, and days until I turned 18. I was confident that when I turned 18, I would sprout wings and could fly away. I remember appealing to the oldest sibling, but her not being around only ensured she was not there to make the changes to tone down the punishment. My parents did not veto the decision taken by the sibling or the punishment meted out to me. Being grounded, I had lost the permission to walk the dog, or even head to the library to borrow books. The sibling owned the membership, and the library was intimated. At that point in time, freedom was a pair of wings.

I had assumed a lot and made many plans when I turned 18. 18 came and slipped under the radar. The sibling and I had a tenuous relationship at best. We avoided each other. We had never gone out socially for too long, to bother making the effort now. Her olive branch was a Titan watch with a rainbow elastic band for a strap. I had nothing to offer. I accepted and it was back to the status quo. I was no longer grounded. But I had no friends, so, it did not matter. Thanks to that evening, I was the subject of the many hushed conversations on the college drive. I was glad when the year ended. Freedom became just another 7-letter word. I was 18. I checked. I had not sprouted wings. And although, I was free to do as I pleased. I kept well within the bounds and had no inclinations to adventure or experiment. My focus had moved. And right now, that was my education.

Freedom is what you do with what’s been done with you

Jean Paul Sartre