Different SisterBy Kelsey Iversen ’02

The first thing I noticed was her tattoos.

I was in my first Northwestern class, 10 years ago, when in walked a beautiful young Indian woman with tattoo art on both of her hands. I was intrigued. I’d come from a completely white high school.

Later that day I noticed the same girl on my wing in Hospers Hall. I learned her name was Anila. I introduced myself, and we became instant friends. As with my other friends, Anila and I talked about family, classes and boys. We shared stories about friends back home, laughed about childhood experiences, and discussed future plans and goals.

But this friendship was different. I listened, fascinated, as Anila told stories about her culture. I ate Indian food for the first time, I located her Middle Eastern home, Bahrain, on the map, and I learned the tattoos were really henna, an Indian ink that disappeared after a couple of weeks.

I pestered Anila to come home with me for a weekend so she could meet my family and high school friends. She declined for most of the school year. Being with my family, she explained, might make her miss her family and home even more than she already did. I hadn’t realized she might be homesick.

I finally convinced her, though, and was excited for everyone to meet my wonderful new college friend. I knew they would be drawn to her bubbly personality and love her as I did. That weekend I took her to my high school to attend my brother’s play. Most of my old friends were there.

The minute we stepped inside, however, I was suddenly very aware that Anila wasn’t white like everyone else in the gymnasium. She was different—I’d sort of forgotten that. I felt nervous, and my mind was racing. I thought, “They don’t know anyone as different as Anila. What will they think of her? What will they think of me?”

I ended up doing the worst thing possible: I spent the evening ignoring Anila. I left her sitting alone in the back of the gym while I reconnected with my old friends.

My friendship with Anila almost didn’t survive that night. Back on campus, we drifted apart, and my stubbornness prevented me from understanding how much I had hurt her. For two years we were friendly—but not friends.

During our senior year, I visited Chicago with the International Club and was able to hang out with Anila again. Being around her made me realize how much I missed her friendship and enjoyed her company.

She’s probably a better person than me because she took me right back. Our freshman-year friendship became more like a sisterhood. She gave me another chance and came home with me for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and we had a great time.

After graduation Anila stayed to work at Northwestern, and I moved away. Still, we remained in close contact. Eighteen months later, I was offered a job back in northwest Iowa. I called her and said, “I’m moving in!” That was five years ago, and she hasn’t gotten rid of me yet!

Today Anila—my roommate, best friend and almost-sister—continues to open my eyes to the world around me. I’m still discovering places in the world I never even knew existed. I’m learning to think globally and developing a truer sense of what it means to be part of a very big, very diverse kingdom.

I can make a mean chicken curry, I sometimes wear my sari, I can say phrases in both Hindi and Telugu (Indian languages), and I’m a big fan of Bollywood movies. I’ve taught Anila how to make a casserole, and she cheers almost as wildly for the Chicago Cubs as I do.

In January, we’re taking another trip together. Anila’s taking me to India to meet her family and friends.

I can’t wait.

Kelsey Iversen majored in sociology at Northwestern and works for the Iowa Department of Corrections at the Residential Treatment Facility in Sheldon. She’ll graduate in May with a master’s degree in criminal justice from the University of Cincinnati. Her roommate, Anila Karunakar ’03, is Northwestern’s multicultural affairs coordinator.