I grew up in Birmingham, in the United Kingdom, and the ultra-diversity of the area meant that there was an incredible sense of community. When I decided to go to University, I looked outside of Birmingham for somewhere to continue my studies, finding myself at the University of Bristol studying Politics and International Relations.
It goes without saying that moving to a new city to live independently for the first time was a difficult situation to navigate. At times it was overwhelming, and at others it was incredible. My time in Bristol was a huge learning-curve and in those three years I developed a much better understanding as to myself.
Slowly, my time in Bristol became increasingly difficult after the whirl and settling in of first year. I was lucky to have a few people from Birmingham around but I found it particularly difficult to feel settled among my course-mates. In Bristol I felt a notion of negative ‘difference’ I had never felt before, the student population felt somewhat distant and I realised that this was not the comfort I was used to.
I began to doubt myself in a way I had never done before: why was I unable to feel comfortable with people on my course? Why did I feel unable to approach people for the first time? Why had this changed from my time in Birmingham, where I felt very much able to broaden my social horizons?
My true-love at Bristol was my course. Out of everything, it provided me with a constant flow of motivation to go to lectures, seminars, and generally put effort into my work. I developed a fantastic relationship with my department, winning awards for my exams every year, and receiving prizes for my work.
However, there was something missing from my daily interactions. I became accustomed to the steep hills and winding streets of Bristol where the buildings were outwardly beautiful, incredibly old, and steeped in history. But as I learnt more of Bristol’s history, its connection with the slave-trade, and its subsequent benefit to the university, I begun to understand the significance of the buildings I saw everyday. The outward decadence was masking an internal reality of money, privilege, and hierarchy which made me feel even more out of ‘place’.
In third year I co-founded the first ever Punjabi Society at the University. We decided to label it as a Punjabi society to facilitate cultural events, and also have the option for events aimed at Sikh students. I was hugely excited to feel comfortable amongst the Punjabi students at the university, and eagerly anticipated our first event: Chaat and Chat.
Unfortunately, at the event, I found myself serving food and then standing awkwardly outside. I felt unable to go inside and speak/socialise with the attendees. I questioned myself, why I was being so cowardly, why I was standing outside not going in. I blamed nobody but myself. This occurred several more times in a variety of environments, something inside was telling me that I could not go in, I could not feel comfortable, and I wasn’t wanted.
For my time in Bristol, a hugely important support-structure were my housemates. I spoke about these difficulties with one of my best friends, detailing how I felt and the situations in which I felt this way. It felt great to speak about this as I had never really thought about myself as someone who could go through any type of anxiety. Being open and honest really helped me understand why I was feeling like this: moving from a space where I felt constantly comfortable to one where the notion of ‘difference’ was enforced so overtly, I realised why sustained interactions were more difficult in Bristol.
I realised that notions of feeling ‘weak’ or ‘helpless’ were a fallacy – there was no such thing as being ‘weak’ if you speak openly about mental health difficulty. Being honest in these situations is a signal of strength, for both men and women who discuss such difficulties. I realised that ego, whether intentional or unintentional, stopped men especially from discussing their mental health, whether they were feeling ok, whether they were in a perplexing place, or whether they had any worries, fears, or anxieties.
I was hugely grateful that my housemates helped me break down my stigma against acknowledging, discussing, and learning about my mental health difficulties at Bristol. This helped me learn a lot about myself and others. I am now at Oxford University doing a masters, and I feel a lot more comfortable with the people around me. Looking back, it shocks me at how difficult things were at Bristol.
I realised that I was incredibly lucky having this support structure in place, and I acknowledge that many in the Punjabi/Sikh community do not have that opportunity. Therefore, I started an initiative called Taraki which looks to empower the Punjabi/Sikh community to offer support to those going through difficulty, ensuring that those going through a hard time are not stigmatised, marginalised, and silenced.
You can follow Shuranjeet’s initiative, Taraki, on Instagram.