It all started a couple of weeks ago and with only a few petty things at first…

Someone started ringing my doorbell unnecessarily and after my answer, no one responded…(“silly kid”, I thought to myself)

Then I came home one day and found my pretty door hanging on the floor…(“wind maybe?”, I told myself again)

Then came the worst…This…

Last Sunday (Mother’s day), after having a heartfelt conversation with my dearest Mom, I went for a long stroll around my neighborhood and came back to something extremely bizarre. While entering my apartment building, I briefly paused to check if there were any new mails for me in my mailbox. Surprisingly I couldn’t find my name in there at all (“strange”, I thought). I then checked for my name in the doorbell list, and couldn’t find my name there either (“so weird”, I thought). But, what I did find, is this one name which had been specifically black-listed from both the lists. This name turned out to be mine. SHIT. :(

After a close examination, it looked like someone had used a black permanent marker to specifically black-list my name. My first hunch — Racism. But, I hardly know anyone else in this building. The only person I know is my next-door neighbor and she’s not German either. Why me?? Why not anyone else living inside this building?!? (I was hyperventilating basically)

Soon, I lost all my calm and I could not think about anything else apart from this. Why me?? That question kept coming back to me.

Leaving my job, my city, my country, and most importantly, my comfort zone had already been difficult enough. I didn’t need any more toppings on it. And just a day before, I remember telling my mom excitedly, “Mom, I finally feel at home here. I have finally found my favorite ice-cream place and my favorite grocery shop (where the cashier lady even recognizes me and smiles back at me every time).” I could feel all those thoughts just drifting away from me now and flying right outside the window…

The thing about being in this situation is that…it makes you sad and angry, both concurrently…and consecutively. It wasn’t just about black-listing my name with a stupid marker. It was about making me feel ‘unwelcomed’…in my new apartment, my new home, and in my new life. That made me sad, really sad. (Yes, it made me cry. And, I cried hard.)

That moment, I also started connecting all the dots. All those stupid actions that I had ignored in the past, started re-playing again in my mind and I realized that it (bullying) had been happening to me for a while now…and then, came this sudden awareness about another sign that I had missed — The writing outside my apartment door.

My neighbor had once told me that the guy (a student) who used to live in my apartment before me, had some issues. She even told me that one day, she found that someone had written ‘WHORE’ outside his apartment door. I remember getting shocked hearing about this at that time (“some crazy ex!”, I thought). But since someone had re-painted over it, it didn’t bother me much.

But, things were different now. My brain was processing everything at 2x speed and I was calculating all possible motives and suspects. I closely examined the wall outside my apartment door again. It was evident that someone had painted over it (to hide the previous word) but there was also this new writing on it (with some crayon), which was barely visible in daylight. So, I took a picture of it and used all sorts of special effects so that I could make sense of what was written on it.’

Out of the two words, only one of them seemed readable ‘Müller’. I called my apartment owners and narrated them the entire episode. They told me that their previous tenant’s name was ‘S**** Müller’ (“That explained one part of the writing”, I thought). But, they were equally clueless about why anyone would be playing these tricks on me (especially when S**** Müller no longer lived here). They thought that maybe the person who hated S**** Müller (“crazy ex”, I guessed again) didn’t know that S**** Müller had left the apartment…and hence maybe I wasn’t the one meant to be harmed (slight relief).

But, it didn’t explain why his crazy ex would do this after 3 months of him moving out of the apartment. Why now?? It didn’t explain why he/she would blacklist my name from the list (clearly, the person could read that Müller had moved out).

I drove myself crazy that night. I didn’t knew whether the B(short for ‘Bully’) was Müller’s crazy ex living in my neighborhood or some stupid kid from my apartment building itself. I didn’t knew whether B had a problem with me living in this apartment or simply my skin color. I didn’t knew if B even knew me at all. Had I ever met B in an elevator? I knew nothing. And that made me uneasy and naturally, I didn’t get much sleep that night.

The next day, I decided to take action. I decided to issue a warning for B. It might have been a joke or some sort of revenge; the motive didn’t matter to me anymore. All that mattered was that I had to communicate to B that I was not okay with it anymore…and it had to stop. Since I neither knew B or where B lives, there was only one way to do it — To make this message public. And, so I did.

I carefully drafted the message so that it would be effective irrespective of who B is. And I also posted it on the main door so that it would be visible to an outsider. While I carried out my own private investigation (read ‘stalking all possible S**** Müllers and their Ex-es on the internet’), my owners told me that they had also messaged S**** Müller to know more about this. I slept better that night.

Until the next night, when my owners informed me that S**** Müller had messaged them back and told them that he had faced similar problems in the apartment. He told them that someone had written ‘Müller läuten’ (which is the German translation for ‘Müller Ringing’) outside his door. He also told them that B had even removed his bell plate. SHIT.

It made me uneasy again. I thought that B cannot be S**** Müller’s Ex (why would an Ex remove the bell plate or write something this stupid outside his apartment door). But, and here’s the scary part, it had to be someone inside the apartment. It could be a kid. It possibly is.

The next day, I printed another warning sign. But this time, only for my apartment door, and only in German. It was a simple message stating that my apartment door was under video surveillance and was also enabled with a home alarm system (neither of which is true, by the way). After all, there was nothing more I could do about this. :/

Finally, last week, I got no more surprises from B. No more doorbell ringing and no more blacklisting (“My warning messages seemed to have worked”, I thought to myself). But then, I noticed something weird. While taking the stairs that day, I noticed something written outside the door of one of the apartments situated on one floor below mine.

Seems like I wasn’t the only target for B.

The handwriting styles matched and it became clear that B couldn’t have been S**** Müller’s Ex. It also became clear to me that there is nothing more that I can do to stop B now.

But, I slept peacefully Friday night and ever since. Maybe, because I realized that B is a coward. Maybe because my owners finally changed both of my nameplates back to normal again. But mostly, because I am now determined not to let all this affect my peace of mind…

And that’s why am I sharing this with you…

This incident really broke my heart. For once, I even considered leaving my apartment and searching for a new place somewhere else. But recently someone made me realize that a home needn’t have the perfect nameplate. It need not even have the perfect paint outside the door. A house might be made of brick and mortar, but a home is only made by the people who live there. And by saying so…my friend shared the wisest thing that he ever said to me and made my home feel like home again! :)

Today is another beautiful Sunday…and as I am writing this in my beautiful home…I am also secretly thinking about B. Are you happy B? Or are you deeply sad inside? After all, a negative mind can never foster a positive life…and pulling someone down can never help someone reach the top.

Here’s to a happy life for all!

Let me start from the beginning. Last Tuesday, at exactly 9:29 PM, I received a transaction message on my phone which indicated that I had just spent 884.57 INR on Netflix. This sounded super fishy to me, given that I hadn’t used my Netflix account in a long long time and I definitely didn’t intend (or did I?🤔) to use it in the future either (Ironically, I was watching Amazon prime at that time).

What was more shocking, is the mail that I received below!!!

I immediately called up the Netflix customer “care” support and was swiftly put on hold by their “caring” staff for more than 10 minutes😑, after which I lost patience and decided to initiate a website chat with their support center parallelly. A few more minutes into the chat and I realized two things: 1. My Netflix account had been hacked (triple-confirmed by the ‘chat guy’); 2. I was still put on hold by the call center, which was now pointless. I immediately dropped the call and tried to sink in the 1st point.

Really? Hacked ?? Is it even possible?? What nonsense!! No way that’s true or wait, have my worst fears come true??? Am I being punished for watching free Netflix for a month? I didn’t event share the passwords with anyone! In fact, I hardly watched it during the free month myself!😱

I was still panicking when the ‘chat guy’ started asking me for my card details (for verification)…while also informing me that Netflix saves it’s user’s card details up to 10 months, even after they have unsubscribed their plan!

Seriously!? This doesn’t make any sense! Why the hell are they still keeping my data when their system isn’t capable enough to keep it safe! Is this another trap? Is this guy even from Netflix?? What if, he’s the real hacker!!!😳

After a long pacifying call with a dear friend, I finally came to my senses and blocked my debit card immediately. Then, I shared the same card details with the ‘chat guy’ fearlessly. After that, he sent me a link to reset my Netflix password and sign-out from all existing devices (The hacker could go to hell!😠). I then canceled the existing subscription plan (which I had been forcefully enrolled in) and spent another long hour convincing the ‘chat guy’ to refund me the deducted amount!

I finally received the refund mail below!!!

After an uneasy sleep, I woke up the next day and noticed that the amount mentioned in the mail was in IDR (Indonesian rupiah) currency (wow!). I also researched online if this is a common occurrence and turns out, your Netflix account is really not as secure as you think it is! There are tons of cases online in which people have reported their Netflix account to be hacked.

Why am I still writing about it then?

Because, in most of these cases, the hacker simply indulges in binge-watching alongside the actual owner of the Netflix account (Yes, you should check your viewing history!). Whereas, my hacker conveniently decided to force me into joining a subscription plan, assuming that I might be happy to pay for his entertainment. Genius? I don’t think so!

Dedicated to the crazy Indonesian ass who decided to ruin my night! — Mehak

It is said that ‘Maa’ is the first word that a newborn baby learns to speak. My first words were ‘Maa’ and ‘Bamma’. My brother would fondly call our Daadi (Grandmother) as ‘Badimamma’. Bamma was my version of Badimamma (at least till the time I learned to pronounce Badimamma correctly). As I grew older, I got tired of using this three-syllable long word. It was time for a change. What started with ‘Bebe’ (which is the Punjabi translation of Daadi) ended at ‘babes’. At first, she was quite hesitant about this idea but given how modern she has always been, she soon came on-board. I realized this liberal side of her some time back when I noticed something different about a suit that she used to wear frequently. The sun was scorching outside and the sleeves from her suit were missing. On my questioning, she confessed to having removed the sleeves herself, because why not.

She was a free-spirited lady yet very traditional at heart. Her sincerity towards performing all the religious ceremonies was sublime. Despite her weak knees, she would go to the temple every day and inspire everyone around her to do the same. She would fast for more than a month every year whether her bowel system would allow it or not. Being very fond of tea, Badimamma would prepare a nice cup of tea for daddy (my Grandfather) every now and then. It was difficult to keep track of these tea breaks. But interestingly, after their evening round of tea, daddy and Badimamma would sit together in the verandah and daddy would then recite the entire Geeta paath (prayer) for Badimamma. I would wait for this moment to do some sneaky business as they wouldn’t notice it. Now that I look at daddy, I feel that this is the time of the day when he will miss her the most.

If she didn’t resemble Lata Mangeshkar Ji so much, I would have been confident that she had a British inheritance thanks to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Many of you must be aware of her interrogatory skills. Jokes apart, she used to love talking to everyone. Especially a newcomer. I remember how happy she used to be to see any of my friends visiting. So happy….that by the end of the day, she would gather all the information about my friend’s family and ancestors than even I would know. Her memory always amazed me.

Words would not be enough to express how caring she was. As I am writing right now, I am remembering her sweet face with a tilted smile and her warm hands. She would go out of her way to make everyone around her happy. When my brother got Jaundice one summer, she took it upon herself to heal him. My laziness wouldn’t allow me to wake up in the middle of the night, but she would spend all her time taking care of Bhaiya. Thinking about her protective nature, brings another incident in my mind. During my school days, Amandeep Kaur was a close friend of mine. She would occasionally call at home. And of course, Badimamma would be the first person to receive her call on the landline. Because of the echo, one could easily tell if someone was eves-dropping a call and that is when I would tell Badimamma to keep the phone down and spare me some personal time with my friend. After the end of the conversation, she inquired about this friend of mine and I answered. Finally, she raised her brows, gave a faint smile and simply remarked, “Aman taah mundiyaan da naam ni hunda?!” (which translates to this in English: “Isn’t Aman a boy’s name?!”). It surprised me then, but I will miss her remarks now.

Despite not understanding the English alphabets, she had the knowledge that no else could possess. She had home-made remedies for everything especially stomach ailments (which were always in demand in my family). She had solutions for every problem (well mostly), which were carefully drafted based on her past experiences. She was aware of the decisions and actions to be taken in every situation. In short, she knew everything!

If I had a magic mirror and asked it: “Mirror, mirror on the wall! Who’s the wisest of them all?”

It would certainly reply: “Your Daadi, munni*!”

*My daadi would lovingly call me Munni.

I could go on and on about her. Well, she has practically raised me and my brother, so we think about her all the time. She was a gem of a person, with a big heart and was an integral part of keeping peace in our family. Let me conclude by narrating a short poem that I have written for her:

It is strange that she is not around anymore.
I feel a little incomplete and sore.
I miss her warm and gentle hands,
that took me to a fairy land.
I miss her stories. I miss her laugh.
I miss the times we used to dance.
If somewhere in heaven, she is listening to me,
I would say this while giving her a flying kiss:

“Badimamma, you will be missed a lot.
I never thought that one day you would be gone.
I hope you are in a better place right now.
I hope that you’re proud and are smiling a lot.”

In loving memory of my Grandmother — Mehak