Versiana's Queen

In the summer of 2006 (it could have been 2007/2008, time is becoming increasingly farcical now), Amma sent me to a summer camp. I loved these camps as much as I was terrified of them. I liked the idea of keeping myself occupied, learning something new and having a corner to do something creative. I was terrified of interacting with new people. Amma sometimes tried to find things which were suitable to my desires; the camps she'd sign me up for would involve a few days of drawing, thinking, writing, but more importantly- a room of quiet, drowning in mild lights and slow-paced friendships born out of exchanging small smiles because we were picking out the same book to read. These would often happen in the local library or our go-to bookstore. In 2006 however, I found myself in a school classroom. This was not ideal for me, wasn't summer to get away from school? Why did amma simply put me in a strange school instead? Nevertheless, there was lots of sunshine and a promise that we'd learn Japanese. I never would have complained to Amma anyway, I did not know how to and I had this inane sense of trust back then, that I could not possibly recover again. 

The camp instructor distributed some chart paper. I got boring yellow. I always preferred the less common colors, the calming violet or the mint green, or even the bright pink. But I always got yellow. We were told to "create our own country". Someone asked the instructor as to how we could possibly create a country while sitting in one place, and there were murmurs of laughter. However, I took this very seriously because world-building with books and perceptions while sitting in the same place was all I did for the first decade of my life (a largely continuing trend). I decided that I would enrich the yellow chart paper with an astounding map of my own country, I'd give her a grand name that resonates with me and I'd make her just as I wished for her to be. In retrospect, the drawing made the chart paper look worse, but in my head- that was the best thing I had come up with. That was the birth of Versiana, her name sharing my first syllable. If I were a country, I would be her, I had decided. That was my first conscious experience of binding my identity around a particular space. Fictional spaces are often undermined for their relevance or power over identity, while they can often be even more powerful owing to their tangible invisibility. So while all my legal papers read "Indian" as my nationality, and I sang the national anthem with utter disinterest other than the interest of keeping up pitch, I was living in Versiana. I learnt about 100 words in Japanese through the course of that camp, recited a few poems and indulged in a few other activities "made for 8 year old kids", but I left with my map of Versiana and 5 words of the Japanese language that stayed with me. 

10 years later, September of 2016, I read Toba Tek Singh by Saadat Hasan Manto (translated by Frances W. Pritchett) for the first time. For those who have not read this short story yet, it's an essential political writing situated during the time of India-Pakistan partition (1947) revolving around the inmates of an asylum located in Lahore. The protagonist seems to be Bishan Singh (but perhaps also the partition itself, the mass hysteria around it, the violence and the loss) who insists that his home is a place called Toba Tek Singh, and the location of this place is left ambiguous in the story. It may be in Hindustan, or Pakistan, or on the border, but it's definitely in Bishan Singh's mind. A satirical story, it highlights the politics of space and identity where Bishan Singh himself, is often referred to as Toba Tek Singh; the person takes his place's name. I did not resonate with Bishan Singh as much as his story made me see the hypocrisies of my own. 

The story of Versiana did not end with that summer camp. A couple of years after the camp, I opened my own Facebook account. I was 13 and Zuckerberg allowed it, but amma did not know. Obviously then, this meant I had to sign up under an alias. That's when I decided I would be 'Versiana's Queen'. My 6th grade self did not find this comical in the least. I thought myself as brilliant that I had gotten away with this identification. No one would ever know the account was mine! I thought I was concealing my identity, but did not consciously realize that I was adopting a new one while doing so. While I did not entirely know the nuanced differences between an empire and a nation-state back then, by calling myself "Queen"- I was creating an empire of sorts. In my imagination, this world would have the Enchanted Tree by Enid Blyton, the Wardrobe leading to Narnia, Fawkes from Harry Potter, the Mad Hatter in Wonderland, Tintin with Snowy and all the other western children's fantasies that I had vociferously consumed, clearly living through a far-reaching post-colonial hangover. I wanted to be someone who greets all the mythical creatures to my land and live in a world that is filled with possibilities that I did not see unfolding in the "real" world. My bestfriend back then and I would come up with stories and endlessly world build (another name for conversational fan fiction) instead of paying attention during classes and I would insert all of those stories into Versiana. Versiana is my imagination, the place I permanently live in wherever I move and forms an impactful part of who I am. 

Versiana changed along with me. In her former years, she and I controlled who would enter into her lands. We made decisions on whom we would open our borders to. She became an entry into both "real" and "fictional" lands that I could not access otherwise. But as my perceptions changed, so did she. Time was transcending and historical figures began to enter Versiana. We had everyone from Ismat Chughtai to Gloria Steinem. I watched Doctor Who; Versiana realized that borders were meant to be open, not only to people of our Earth but all kinds of communities, from everywhere. Space or creation was barely a constraint in Versiana. If there were ecological problems around me, her people would create the perfectly sustainable technology to tackle it. As I opened my mind, the capacity of Versiana exceeded beyond the yellow chart paper. It was no longer mainstream fantasy-fiction that thrived in her head. She carries the words of Toni Morisson, Nayyirah Waheed, Audre Lorde and Sylvia Plath. She found renewed interpretations of fiction, feeding in the worlds of the books I read by Jhumpa Lahiri, Ambai, Marjane Satrapi and Perumal Murugan. I know more languages in Versiana than I do outside of it. Versiana no longer attracts selective or homogenous communities. Rather, she is as expansive as she can possibly be and hopes for more people to walk in because she is voluminous, and thrives in the abundance of thought. She is not immune to politics, rather, she fosters political thought and dissent. Sometimes, she is tired, but she keeps going. Versiana is not mine, she is no longer ruled by a queen. She is autonomous because her people are autonomous. She stitched herself into Ursula Le Guin's anarchist fiction, and she became everything that I wanted to be, and be in. She is every hope and possibility that I can imagine, all the poetry I read and the ideas that I am made of. 

I now have a new Facebook account, and 'Versiana's Queen' has been deactivated. Versiana, however, goes on. 

On reading Toba Tek Singh for the second time, 4 years after the first, I absorbed various new meanings, and certain contradictions as well. But my biggest takeaway this time, in light of the continuing story of Versiana, is that there is a world-building that is possible without nation building. There is a world building that is possible without empire building. Our imagination sustains through every other fault line that we both cause and fight against. In turn, we must let our imagination sustain us.