It was sophomore year and I had been listening to my mother talk about her life for 15 years now – how she fell in love in college and how that, even though it was great, could have maybe happened after she had worked.

“Girls with boyfriends are useless! It’s not in our culture!”

I had grown up learning that good girls who have actual moral compasses don’t have boyfriends, especially not foreign ones – it’s even worse if they are not devout Hindus.

“Listen Shailu, don’t ever bring home a Madrasi, Benali, Kerelite, Gujju, Punju and definitely not a Marwadi. Also, don’t forget I don’t want any non-Hindus in this house, haan? And no pink, black, blue, green all these other strange colours!”

It was sophomore year; Indian parent’s pressure was on to perform in the board exams 3 months away. 

“I want to see all A* because I know you’re capable.”

I would hear that every day…. UGH! A reminder threat in disguise that there would be consequences if I didn’t make the mark. 

So now you can probably imagine my terror, knowing only this (and not my mother’s wrath) when I went and broke literally, every. Single. Rule. 

I don’t know why I did it, maybe it was the thrill of danger – walking on the edge doing “forbidden things” (at this point you should know that the max that happened was we sat two inches closer than before – I’m a good, Indian girl – mother promise.) Maybe it was the curiosity to dabble in the unknown- the entire “boyfriend” experience and the foreign thing I guess?  Maybe it had to do with the fact that we had grown close and it helped that I found him to be the most gorgeous boy I’ve ever seen (kudos to me for dating him).  I don’t know, whatever it was, it happened.

But not without much inner conflict: I made a list of pros and cons, a weighted list – added them up, found an average (I take Maths at Higher Level), discussed the advantages and disadvantages with him, we made another list together, discussed how practical our relationship was. Cons outweighed the pros by a ton. And practicality was definitely not strength. All I knew was that I liked him and he liked me – this was my “pros” list, just BTW.

So my impulsive, impractical self-went along with the idea – resolved to keep this a secret relationship. It would be exciting – like in the movies! A forbidden love! I lasted for a good…
6 hours.
10.30, right before bed, I brushed my teeth and sat down. The air had been getting heavier and thicker – it was becoming hard to breathe, hard to talk to my mother, hard to be with my own thoughts… So, I take a deep breath and walk into my mother’s room.
“Mumma, promise you won’t be mad?”
“If there is reason to be mad, I will be. Now kya hua?”
“SothisboyIlikelikesmetooandIreallywanttobewithhim…ButifyousaynothenI’llsaynotooitsokaywhateveryoudecide.”
Worst half a second. EVER.
“It’s okay. I trust you and it’s okay..”
WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY OVERBEARING, OVERPROTECTIVE SLIGHTLY RACIST MOTHER?
“Are you okay…?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I know that you’re stubborn like your father and you’ll blame me if you don’t try this on your own. I’m not saying yes, but I’m not saying no. Just do whatever you think is okay for you.  Just keep me informed.”
“WOW. Thanks mom.”
“But first, who is he, name, age, nationality, relationship with you before this, address.”
“Classmate,  Matteo, 15, Italian-German, friend,  Colaba.”

“You’re not driving 2 hours to go and see him in Colaba, sorry no, he can come here. I want to see him soon.  Be careful with these European boys, they’re culture is different to ours. Now go sleep, its late. Also! If this affects your grades it’s over, I don’t care about how much you like him.  A* and no less.”

I went to bed knowing I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. The air smelt sweet now and every time I walked it felt more like I was gliding. I wasn’t a liar anymore, and I got to keep the boy…

I spent the next two months of our relationship spending every waking moment with him, the internet is a beautiful tool to learn and talk to one’s significant other. Constantly.  All the damn time. Every hour I spent click-clacking my keyboard away talking to Matteo, I spent not studying.

The last month before the exams I was dumped. Like beginning like end, I didn’t know why. So I spent the next month mourning my loss, silently (but strongly) suffering the injustice that befallen me. In doing so, every moment I sulked, I didn’t study.

Unsurprisingly I was a disappointment on results day – As and Bs… Not all A*s. In fact. Only one A*…Utter. Complete. Total. Disappointment. I cried, my parent comforted me, although I knew they wanted to cry too…
Thinking back if I could take it back, stay focused, ace my exams and be awesome…I wouldn’t.  I learned a lot of things textbooks can’t teach you- how to turn friendship into more, how to turn more back into friendship, how to be courageous and honest even when you think you can’t, what to want and when to want it, the consequences of not going by the pros and cons list and that your mother, even when you completely believe will be your worst nightmare, will always be your best friend.  I think you learn more sometimes by breaking the rules and falling flat on your face, getting your ego knocked out cold and having to gather whatever you have left and getting up again.