Dear Reader, Suraj here –
In August of 2019, I was bullied and beaten by a couple of my classmates, including some seniors. A few days before that, I was slapped by a guy I barely knew in the middle of the road, while a classmate (who had asked him to do so) filmed me and laughed. I didn’t fight back.
What had happened was this:
After the 2015 earthquake in Nepal that killed over 9,000 people, there had been many less devastating earthquakes. So, efforts were constantly being made to raise awareness on what to do when an earthquake came. In mid-August, a group of undergraduates from a local university, comprising two boys and three girls, visited our school to teach us earthquake response and safe evacuation techniques. They showed us videos, talked to us, and the final part included dividing us, the students, into groups and having us draw a summary of the things they had taught us.
While everyone else was participating in the group activity, I, as a Prefect, was tasked with ensuring that quietness and discipline were maintained. So that is what I did. I walked around making sure everyone was getting the guidance they needed, alongside ensuring discipline.
While I was passing by one of the groups of boys, I heard them talking, and as I got closer, I heard what they were discussing. One of the university girls who had come to teach us had bent down to teach one of the groups. As she had done that, her breasts had been visible through her top. So these boys were talking about how they looked and what they wanted to do with them. I couldn’t just hear and say nothing. So I told them not to talk that way, that it was wrong. Then I went, and when I came back, they had continued talking about things related to her that I cannot write here. So I told one of the teachers, and I had asked him to be mindful of not telling them it was I who was the whistle-blower.
The next day, they were called in front of the assembly and were made an example of what not to be like. I wish that hadn’t happened, but what they had done was not right. A few days later, I received a text from one of the boys warning me to be careful. As I dug deeper, I found out that the teacher whom I had told everything had shared it with the HODs, and one of those HODs had told one of these boys that it was I who had given their names.
My exams had started, and I was constantly worried about what would happen because I knew these boys wouldn’t just let it be. Then, on the day of the second-to-last exam of grade 9, I was slapped by this guy I barely knew in the middle of the road, while a classmate laughed and filmed me. He had asked this guy to beat me. The next day, after my last exam, I was followed as I was walking home, and as soon as I entered a narrow street, some boys of my batch and some of their senior friends surrounded me, pushed me against the wall, and hit me a few times. I was disappointed and disheartened. Disappointed because some of those boys who had hit me, I had called friends. Disheartened because this was one of the very first times that I had felt weak.
Then I got home, nobody was there because since grade 8, I had begun to live on my own. I locked my room and cried. For some time, I didn’t tell anyone what had happened. Since exams had finished, we had about two weeks of holidays, so I couldn’t even ask for help. I didn’t tell anyone what had happened. Then, when the school opened, I went to one of the HODs and told him everything. This particular HOD was someone I had looked up to throughout my entire school life. He was not from the city where my school was; he was an outsider. Perhaps that was the reason he wasn’t like the others. So he told me he’d talk to the other HODs and see what would be a good next step.
As I waited to hear back from him, it got really difficult for me to be in school. Prior to this incident, I had been a very confident person. I had been doing well academically, extracurricular-wise as well, and I had also been doing amazing in things outside of school. In short, I had been a very, very confident guy. But after this incident, whenever I’d walk the corridors of my school, I’d see one of those boys, and my heartbeat would increase. I was certain that it wouldn’t happen again, but my heartbeat would race nonetheless.
A few days later, I was called by all the HODs in their office, and I was told to just pull out from all my ECAs, and nothing would happen. So far, I had been leading school events and the school assembly, and they suggested I stop doing that, too. They said, “Those boys made a mistake, but you can forgive them and let it be. They will not do it again.”
Turns out one of the boys had been jealous of the opportunities I was getting in school (such as leading the school assembly), so he was the one who had asked a stranger to slap me in the middle of the road. The thing that still amazes me is that the reason that HODs had asked me to pull out and quiet down, rather than taking action against the other boys, was that most of those boys were sons of local politicians, businesspeople, and other people with connections. These HODs knew their fathers personally, and in some sense, they wanted to gain a favor. That was all the HODs, except this outsider whom I trusted. But he, too, didn’t do anything. He just watched while everyone else asked me to quiet down.
That day, when I got home, I called my parents and told them that I might need to transfer schools to a different city. I told them everything that had happened and also explained to them that we really couldn’t do anything. Even if we filed a police complaint, nothing would happen. They were politicians in a city filled with corruption, and we were a couple of nobodies from a small, faraway village. Even if action were to be taken, I would still struggle to be in the school with all those boys. So, we got me admitted to a different school in a different city. But at the last moment, I decided that I couldn’t run away from this. So I decided to stay back at my school.
Then COVID happened, and I didn’t really have to face those boys again. After grade 10, as is the norm in Nepal, we went to a “college” for our 11 and 12. Those two years were some of the best of my school life.
I did randomly meet some of those boys later, but I realized that a sense of trauma was set in me. My heart still paced around them even though I knew they wouldn’t mess with me, knowing who I had become and all the connections I had built. Yet, my heart paces.
In my second semester at university, I took an “Introduction to Creative Writing” class where I wrote this short poem about it:
nobody from nowhere
beaten. broken. alone.
i’ll run away;
but scars will
remind me:
‘coward’ is
a part of me.
I have forgiven those boys for the things they did, yet I haven’t been able to fully let go of it. That incident was an important part of my life. In some sense, it built me. It gave me the willingness to work hard, so that my children wouldn’t have to feel like they are nobody.
If I could go back in time and change things, would I? The bullying, probably not, but the response of the HODs, most certainly.
My school gave me Taran and Anant, two of my best friends. My school also gave me Karisma ma’am, a teacher who was more than just a teacher; she was the first to tell me that I could become a good writer someday, and she helped me come to peace with myself and my troubles. Yet, unless I didn’t absolutely had to, I wouldn’t go back to that school. Primarily because that school still values people with connections and politicians, and people they can gain favor from over what is right and just. Maybe someday that will change, but so far, it hasn’t.
But why did I tell you all of this?
I did because I know some of you may have had similar experiences growing up, or maybe even in adulthood.
About two years ago, I had shared this incident with a close friend; he had told me that he also had been bullied during school, far worse than I. After listening to my story, he told me that it gave him the courage to use that trauma as strength to become stronger and better, that my sharing had helped him confront and accept what had happened.
Even to simply talk about trauma is a courageous and powerful thing. And it helps. Sharing won’t heal everything, but it will help you come to peace with it. We cannot change what has happened, but we can accept that it happened and that it has passed. Even if you are going through something right now, know that you are in a chapter of your life, and this chapter will pass.
Be hopeful, my friend. Things always get better, sooner or later.
I will see you next week.
Warmly,
Suraj
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