Jealousy, hopelessness and mental breakdowns: The internal lives of international students in the UK.
In Dunki, the recently released Shahrukh Khan film, Hardy (SRK’s character) and a bunch of his friends undertake a life threatening journey to reach the UK, inspired by the life that their friend is living in London. A life they have only seen in photos that he has shared. Photos of him smiling ear-to-ear in front of the Big Ben. Photos of him leaning against a swanky car in the parking lot of his big house.
On reaching the UK through the fatal donkey route, when Hardy sees this friend practically begging on the streets, he confronts him. Smacking the photos in his face, Hardy asks him,“Where is your house? Where’s the car? It is photos like these that lure others to come here. Why don’t you share the real photos? Why don’t you show them that you beg on the streets?”
That scene from the film was my cue to archive some bitter truths about the lives of international students through the story of my friend Ekta.
Hearing the sound of a vibrating phone through your mattress is the most atrocious attack on your sleep. Not for Ekta though. Her sleep can rarely be disturbed, because she barely sleeps peacefully these days.
Zzzzztt. Zzzztt. Her phone buzzes.
Without lifting her face from the pillow, Ekta moves her hand around the bed, hoping to find the phone that she last remembers falling on her face while she was doom-scrolling the night before.
Struggling to adjust to the burst of bright light on her one open eye, she sees three notifications. One email, one Whatsapp message and one news headline announcing that the UK has officially entered recession. Blood has never circulated faster in a body that has just woken up. She is wide awake now. What an email from a potential employer on a Monday morning means to job seekers can be hard to put in words.
She pulls down the notifications from the top of her screen, previews her email and starts hunting for one word. The word. As her eyes glide across the screen impressively fast, she sees,“Unfortunately on this occasion we regret…”. She stops right there, chucks her phone on the bed, crashes her head into the pillow and shuts her eyes again.
Ekta is twenty seven. After a brief stint as a marketing professional in India, she moved to the UK to pursue a Master’s in Public Policy right after the pandemic.
Eighteen months, a hefty student loan, multiple breakdowns and a master’s degree later, Ekta is now a full-time dishwasher at a high-end, private members club in London. On her day off, she applies for public policy jobs. Well, she tries to.
After three consecutive double shifts over the weekend, where all she could think about was how badly she wanted to sleep on her day off, she’s in bed now. Wide awake with her eyes shut. This must be her 60th rejection. Or 160th. She stopped keeping a count after the first ten. She tosses herself around the bed for a bit and picks up her phone again.
“Babeeeeeeeeee….the junior researcher role I told you about, remember? They’ve called me for an interview tomorrow.” It is a message from Lavanya, her batchmate, ex-flatmate and overall soul sister in the last one and a half years. Lavanya is 28, Ekta is 27. Lavanya’s father is a government officer with a limited salary and her mother is a home maker who provides unlimited support. Ekta’s story is not too different. They both fought benign resistance from their families to come to the UK. Both are also under immense pressure to prove their decision right, re-pay the student debt and build a life of their own in this country. After a year of sharing their stories with each other, their ambition to stay in the UK has culminated into a solidarity project, because this seems to be the only way for them to be free from restrictions on what they wear, how they sit and when they marry.
Ekta is staring at Lavanya’s text. It’s one of those moments when one becomes thoughtless, because feelings cannot be thought. And this feeling is bordering discomfort.
Distract yourself. Move your body. Escape this feeling, she tells herself. She pulls herself out of the bed and goes to the kitchen to make herself a coffee. As the water is boiling, Ekta is leaning her elbows against the kitchen platform with her head resting on her palms. How is this even possible? She’s barely got work experience, mostly copied all my assignments, we applied for the same role and she’s getting to interview for it while I wash dirty dishes day and night? The water on the stove is bubbling.
She pours herself a strong brew, sits by the window, picks up her phone and starts typing.
“I am so happy for you…”
Yuck. Could you sound more fake? Backspace. Backspace. Backspace.
“Let’s goooo, you got this!!” Nope. Still fake.
“That is great news! All the best.” Agh. I sound like an uncle.
Screen locked, phone aside, time for some butter chicken therapy.
The paper thin onions she’s slicing give her eyes a bit of a release. She’s not crying, she's just revelling in a painful catharsis. Let’s call it emotional BDSM. Her thought-train takes off again. Did I really feel jealous of her? Jealousy is fine, but of her? The one person who held me through all this? Am I incapable of seeing her happy? If there was anything worse than being a jobless dishwasher with a master’s degree from a top university, it’s probably being jealous of your friend. Well fucking done, Ekta!
She decides to abandons her thoughts and the half chopped onion mid-way. She’s lost her appetite.
Zzzzztt…Zzzzzt. Maa calling.
Ekta - Hello maaaa! Kaise hoooo?? (Fake enthusiasm switch: On)
Mom- All good baccha, how are you doing? Enjoying your day off?
Ekta- Yess! Woke up really late, cooked butter chicken and naan. Will probably take a nap again, and maybe go out in the evening. It is really sunny today, probably should make the most of it.
Mom- I hope you used the recipe I sent…
Before her mom can finish, her father is on the screen now.
Papa- Butter chicken for lunch on a weekday? I hope you are working out to be able to digest these meals! (Laughs)
Ekta- Hahah, my weekend is when I get a day off. All sins are forgiven today.
Papa- Oh yes, I forgot you’re off today.
Ekta- Yes.
Papa- By the way, your rent is due next week, do you need some money? I can transfer it to you.
Ekta- (Tone shifts from enthusiasm to panicky enthusiasm) No no, I am sorted for this month. There’s no need.
Papa- Okay. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?
Ekta- Yes.
Papa- So, how is everything?
Ekta- All good, paa.
Papa- Any interview calls?
Ekta- Yes, I am expecting a few calls. Something should come up next week.
Papa - Do you want me to speak to Monty? His friend is at a big position in Leicester. He might be able to help.
Ekta - Paa (deflating enthusiasm, escalating panic), he works for a pharmaceutical company. Plus you haven’t met Monty uncle in 20 years. Why do you think his friend will give your daughter, a public policy graduate, a job in a company that sells medicines? (She realises her pitch has gone up a bit)
A deafening silence follows.
Papa- Chalo okay. You know better.
Ekta- Hmm..
Papa- There is absolutely no pressure, but maybe you should consider applying for jobs in India. The country is booming right now.
Before she can respond, her mother is on the phone again.
Mom- Oh hooo….he won’t let us talk in peace. Forget about applications, you first tell me, did you follow my recipe for butter chicken? I hope you added the kasuri methi towards the end…that just adds a different flavour…
Ekta is nodding, but she had tuned into a different channel in her head long. Why the fuck does Lavanya’s progress bother me so much? Why does her victory have to mean a loss for me? On the contrary, her winning only gives me hope that I can win too. She better fucking get this job. I need some dose of optimism anyway. It’s long overdue!
She gets off the call and starts typing. “You got this Lavvvvvv! We can’t leave any loose ends. Read up about the company, prepare some questions that you have for them and let me know if you need my blazer for the interview. You’re going to crack this mere sher! All the best.”
Sent. She’s breathing better now.
With her mind slightly de-cluttered than before, she realises her head is aching, stomach is growling with SOS calls and that she has wasted half her day already.
Soupy maggi to the rescue!
Ekta opens LinkedIn to start a new job application when she see a notification.
Congratulations Ekta on finishing two years at the University of London.
She clicks on it to see her post from two years ago.
Dreams really do come true. If someone had told me a year ago that I would be in the UK studying something I had dreamt of since I was a child, I wouldn’t have believed them. It was too far, too expensive. But here I am, living my dream. If I can do this, you can too. Looking forward to taking my professional journey to the next level. Wish me luck! #DreamBig #MondayMotivation.
Dream big, my ass, she tells herself as she mechanically starts typing her zillionth cover letter.
Good writers pen down their truths, great writers pen down everybody’s truth. I tried to both and failed to be good or great.
In case you have not realised it already, Ekta doesn’t exist. If you scroll up and see the image, it is obviously AI generated.
I am Ekta, because I wrote this. If you are an international student, there’s a bit of her in you too. All the students who have come to the UK with big dreams and small pockets, they’ve all been Ekta at some point. They have felt jealous of the people they love. They have had to lie to their parents about their life. They have, at some point, asked themselves one question, “At what point do I give up and go back home?” But then the thought of returning home empty handed scares them enough to slog through odd jobs for a couple more months. And that, is the reality of international students today.
Thank you, if you came this far. You reading this means a lot to me. If you have any feedback, you can reach out to me on LinkedIn or email me at dhyanesh0212@gmail.com
Signing off for now,
Dhyanesh.