As a six year old who still struggled with making her Y’s, I had no idea what it meant at the time, of course. Little did I know how much importance this word would later hold in my life.

Two years after that incident, my friends and I were discussing our hair in front of the mirror in the girl’s washroom. I heard them laugh and talk while I dried my hands; one of them wanted to crop her hair. Then they asked me what I was going to do with mine. I searched for something to say, because I was a Sikh, and in our religion we are not allowed to cut our hair. When I told them that, they started laughing. They said, “That’s so strange! Why would someone not be allowed to cut their hair?” I did not know the answer, and looked at myself in the mirror for a moment, wondering what I would look like with short hair. The idea seemed weird to me, and gave me a weirder feeling in the stomach. When I greeted my grandmother at home, I asked her why we could not cut our hair. She said, “It’s not that we cannot. It is because we choose not to. I believe that we should cherish the things God has given us, rather than cut it off just for the sake of vanity or convenience.”

Those words have stuck with me till date.

Three years later, I stepped foot in the Shri Ram School, Moulsari, feeling proud of the fact that I was now in senior school, which was an hour away from junior school. I felt as if I were an hour away from my younger self too; I felt suddenly old and independent and mature. I was carrying a heavy bag full of books and new stationary and excited feelings. Lugging it around cheerfully, I swivelled past very tall, very old people and waddled into my new class.

The year passed by as I grew into a more confident girl, someone who replied wittily and considerably improved in her academics. It was that year that I started becoming more conscious about my looks, more materialistic: someone who walked past “unpopular” people like she was above them. This girl was so different from the one who used to feed the needy children of her class. This girl was someone who tried to act cool and smart and not herself.

What was the turning point in my life after that? I can’t say, but I remember the sudden realisation when I opened my phone and saw how many people I had left unread, people I had ignored for weeks as if I were too busy for them. I remember my realisation when I had to choose between going to a party or studying for an exam. Who was I becoming? Was I the same Iffat who had intellectual talks with her mother every night, or was I the Iffat who had on an accent and a fake persona while speaking? All I knew is that this realisation happened during the Covid lockdown. And once I realised that, I changed.

‘Changed’ is probably not right- it is too abrupt a word. I would prefer to use the word ‘grew’ because it refers to a gradual process that is the gaining of knowledge to become a better version of yourself. I grew into the person I am now, the only constant thing in my life being writing and reading, my love for these two things never depleting.

Today, I sit here, trying to write the perfect “Get to know me”, the perfect life story. But the question is, do I truly know myself yet? Or am I in a long term process of figuring it out, in a cruel simulation called life?

To be completely honest, I had written a whole paragraph on all the things I’m good at, and everything I like, as a way to describe myself. But a few adjectives could never describe me as well as the experiences that I have had, my culture, and the impact that the people in my life have had on me. So instead I decided to write down a few incidents in my life, both the good and the bad, that have always stuck with me and remind me of who I am. That, and my sole ambition to just always be a “pure” human being, make me, me.