F*** according to the dictionary
“F-u-c-k” whispered Kannan in my ear.
“Like suck?”
“Yes, but ffff,” he said.
“Like phhh? I can’t understand while you are whispering. Say it out loud”
“I can’t! It is a bad word,” he yelled.
“Say it! You’ve said worse things in the past”
Kannan looked around to see if anyone was watching. Supraja miss would not arrive for at least half an hour. He knew because he was wearing his ladybug watch, one that he had begged his mother to buy because he was finally in Class 6. The right was only bestowed upon middle schoolers. We were deemed responsible enough to take care of the watch but more importantly, read time correctly.
The class only had a sparse number of students who arrived early. Kannan and I, who had taken the same school bus for two years now, had settled into an uneasy camaraderie — of being each other’s favourite enemies. We sat next to each other because it was our punishment. The teacher hoped we would learn to be civil. Our relationship began in Class 4 with a declaration of me “hating boys” and him “hating ugly girls like me”; to now being solidified by a careful curation of bad words. Some included ‘French kiss’, ‘first night’ and of course, ‘sex’.
“This is a really bad word. I can’t say it out loud” he said.
“If you don’t tell me what this is, I will tell miss that you said that she and Ramesh sir kissed in class”
Kannan had no choice. He ducked under the table, asked me to bend down too. “It’s fuck. F. U. C. K. Do not ask anyone what it means. Just know that it is the worst word you can say.”
“How do you know this? What if I say fuck to Ashwini and she doesn’t know what it means”
Kannan covered my mouth. “Shut up, stupid cow. Someone will hear you.”
“Is it worse than ‘suck’?”
“Yes, obviously,” he said.
“Really? I am going to check the dictionary,” I declared, not trusting him.
“Check. I don’t care”
“A-B-C..F. Okay FA, FO, FU.. Okay. Fuck: [countable, usually singular] an act of sex. To copulate. A swear word that many people find offensive that is used to express anger, horror or surprise. Woooow,” I marvelled. “What is co-pu-late?”
“Leave all that. See! I told you,” he said proudly. “I know everything.”
Kannan knew everything indeed. This stocky boy of 11 told me that one could find several naked ladies on the computer if one typed ‘naked’ and that sex was actually a really bad thing that sleazy men did. Sex and typing ‘naked’ in the computer had to be done in the dark or else the police could catch you. He also said that the words ‘penis’ and ‘vagina’ were the highest insults you could hurl at a person.
Though Kannan and I had several such secret conversations on our bench, three away from the board, we didn’t seem particularly fond of one another. Kannan would shake the table to ensure that my handwriting seemed terrible. He sang loudly and often sniggered after pulling out dirt from his ear using a pencil. On days that he annoyed me, I would gather a bunch of spit and write my name with it in his notebook.
He had two older brothers from whom he picked up these things. He regularly declared that he loved them and that he was going back home to play football and videogames with them. I refused to believe that he was allowed anywhere near the console or the ball. He would at most, be uppu-ka-chappa, kacha nimbu, benched.
Despite him being vastly uncool, I wanted to show off to him. I wanted to be an adult boy in his eyes. Someone he could trust. I told him about decapitating my sister’s dolls and playing ‘army’ with the boys in the apartment. I told them that I had an older brother too with whom I often burst lakshmi vedis and atom bombs with during Deepavali. I was not afraid of anything. None of this was enough though. Kannan still called me the ugliest girl a lot.
I called him short in return, out of spite. He would get riled up by this. Being short was the greatest insult. His biggest insecurity. At 11, I was already towering over him because my hormones worked much faster. He turned red like a tomato out of shame. “My mother says that girls grow faster than boys but their brains do not develop”.
One of our ugliest fights happened on the bus. I was particularly bored that day and called him Dora because he looked like her after his haircut. He called me ugly in return. But that day, he called me ‘blackie’ too. An anger I was not particularly familiar with rose in my tiny heart. I slapped him across his face. He held his hand to his cheeks, not because he was sad but out of sheer disbelief and anger. He cried out of rage. “I am not slapping you back because my mother says it is not right to hit girls. Or else, you would be pulp,” he said. I knew this to be true. He could crush me. I could get beaten right back and genuinely hurt.
He went to Supraja miss and complained the next day. I was reprimanded and asked to stand outside the class. I was going to apologise to him that day. How dare he tattle. I cried angry, sad tears too. We didn’t speak.
I went back home that day, threw the bag in the hall and ran to the bathroom that I bolted very quietly. In the quiet, I said what I really wanted to say in my loudest whisper.
“FUCK. SUCK. SHIT. HE IS A PENIS. KANNAN IS A PENIS. KANNAN IS A FUCK”. I waited.
Did somebody hear me? No? Okay. Life went on.
I said sorry after what seemed like weeks. By then, he had already made friends with a bunch of bullies in class. He whispered secrets in their ears. Their sniggers were loud and clear. I knew what he was saying and was deeply hurt about being left out of the loop. Our secrets were once welded in quiet excitement and shame. Here, it was a celebration. How could he. How dare he. I moved on too, further cementing my boy hatred, realising that I could never be one of them even if I tried.
We were sworn enemies.
Kannan left school that year. Their family was moving to Bangalore. Someone random told me this. He didn’t. Why should I care? He was nobody to me.
On his last day though, he stopped by my desk when nobody was around.
He came close and whispered “Bye, fucker” and smiled. I smiled back in return. “Bye.”
