Black Sheep- A Magnet for Criticism

Sometimes I wonder how two people who grew up together in the same kinds of families (the children of two siblings) can be so different. [This post is inspired by some comments that I got from relatives yesterday.]

My first cousin and I are less than a year apart. She wants to study, get a job, get married, and have kids. She does not care about what job she gets, as well as it pays well, and there are chances for some recognition and promotions. I want to do something I love. I care about the educational standards in my country, and I’m resolute on doing something about it, or at least trying. I want to study something that interests me, something that will challenge me and something I care about. She chose her subject because it has “scope” all over the world. I think taking a year off increased the depth of my understanding about work, life and my country. She would never consider it. She gloats at the thought of finishing her Masters by age 23, by which age I will just have finished my Bachelors. For her, it’s not about where you get, or how rich your experiences are, it’s about how fast you get there.

My cousin might have read 15 books (novels etc) in English apart from her course books. I’ve read more than 300. (The year I was eleven, I set my personal record by reading 147 good age-appropriate ones.) I have never seen something (besides homework) that she has written. She applies toner to her face every night before bed. Although I wish I would remember every day, I don’t think she should feel that I forget because I don’t have my priorities straight. I perfectly enjoy falling asleep as I just put down my novel, not even going to the bathroom before bed, and waiting for Ama or Bhai to turn off my lights and close the door. I want to fall in love, truly madly deeply (yes, yes, I agree it’s a cheesy phrase but you know what I mean). She’s in favor of loving the person who loves you back so you’re safe, and someone who people will feel is lucky to have you, not someone who people will think you are lucky to have (Dear God, kill me).

It’s no wonder that people in my extended family think I’m strange. I’m eighteen, I’m a girl and I don’t know how to cook. (I agree I should learn, but I don’t like the gender thing associated with culinary skills.) They love criticizing me by making it sound like they are giving advice, or even without trying to disguise their disapproval of my lifestyle. “She’s always busy…” “She worries too much about others.” (I got really pissed at this, since when is my Mom one of the ‘others’?) “Once kids start earning, they don’t feel like studying anymore.” “It’s best if you finish with your studies first”, “Don’t read so much, you have to socialize”, “Of course you need to know how to handle kids, you’ll have some of your own one day,” “It’s not only about America, you can go to America for your Masters,” “At least I’ve stuck to one guy.” It never stops. Even when I was too little to understand, an aunt told me that if I didn’t play physical games, my bum (euphemized as “hip”) would be too big. Most of the time, I know better than to care. But sometimes, I feel like if I don’t care about their life and their priorities and what they think about my life, they should stop caring too.

I’ve always been the black sheep. The night before my aunt’s wedding (I was about seven then) I was making her a card while the rest of the kids were playing and looking at the celebrations. I read while they watched cartoon and films. (I had to be forced to watch my first Hindi film.) And I enjoyed school (gasp!). It’s not even like I mind being the black sheep. I don’t care. I just wish they’d stop caring too.