Who Am I?

If I were a theatre practitioner, I would surely be made to do the line "who am I?" in a dozen ways -- with stresses on different the different words, and subtlety on the others. But I am Rudraani, and I have not yet watched Kungfu Panda 3 and I only ask this to myself when I see myself from another person's point of view. So I want to look through what Antara thinks when I am dressed for the ice-skating thingy in my simple black jeans (which by the way is from Zara), and blue UCB t-shirt. She must be thinking "oh, rich bitch." If only she knew. No, not that I steal from my parents to wear what I wear, else how could I wear had they not bought or introduced me to those, but I know of the fights that flare up in my family over finance, and I know what it takes my parents to maintain the image they grew up with.

I live in denial. I am sixteen, and I cannot help it if the demands of my peers ask me to 'be" and "behave" in a certain manner. I was narrating outright to my cousin this evening that when we had a second-hand Indigo, how I used to ask my driver to drop me outside the school gate. I study in an elite school, where even Hondas are meh. So, finally when Dad did away with the Indigo, and we were/are left with our Fortuner, I make it a point to ask Rakesh Uncle, our driver, to drop me inside the school. However petite I am, I like the fact that I come out of a big car, with my Kipling bag on my shoulder, casually hung, as if it were a rucksack. My parents did not buy me that. My rich uncle did, but I dare not confess that to Anoushka or Antara. What will they think? I like taking tiffin to school which has exquisitely baked items made by Mom, which she could have rather earned from had she sold them, but though I try, I cannot bring myself to say a "no" to her. I like being rich. I like rich. That's who I am.

Art and athletics apart, I suck at studies. I know I will barely pass my tenth, which, those younger to me will pass with vibrant, flying colours. But, I actually do not aspire for that. All I wish is a life were things remain as they had been. May be my tense is wrong. But hey, my taste isn't. I like what I have acquired. My Dad is broke, I know, and he doesn't know I do. My Mom's family is trying to help us out, and they think I do not know. But I do, yet, I feel sad that I do not feel sad. Who am I? A shadow? A lie?

If I ever look at boys to date, I do a thorough background check on their cars. I wish that much attention from me went imto my projects. But I am used to such lavish lifestyle, and I like living the lie that we still are in it. My parents are good human-beings, we even had a genuinely nice pet, Pluto. They gave him away saying "he was getting too violent." Like I could not understand. Of course, Pluto was used to certain food habits which they cannot afford any longer, and thus he was sold off, like the Indigo. 

We have a huge duplex. It might soon go too, and yes, we will move to a fantastic apartment, but like me, Mom too is in a denial. I have gone against my grain and done bad in my studies so that they are forced to bring me down to another school, but my stupid aunt has such high contacts that even the school authorities keep giving me chance. I know at what price it comes. I feel guilty to ask Dad to bring home a tub of Baskin Robbins, but it angers me even more that he does. Why can't he say aloud that he can't? Or why can't Mom declare that he shouldn't?

This is the life I wish I never have. I am happy being mediocre and content with a Kwality orange ice-candy. I am glad this is just an essay and that literature allows me to become whoever I wish and dismiss to become. You know what, my name is not even Rudraani. Nor I am Anoushka, or Antara. I am just doing a random test-writing to see who I can become, and who I am not.

Which brings me to my original question, who am I?

I am Zoheb. Zoheb Walia. 

Script submitted on "Who am I?" by Ishika Rai. I am just a story-teller. I lead you to many misleads.