Eeny Meeny Miny Friend

sangeeta — Wed, 26 May 2010 17:13:52 +0000

‘I wish I had known,’ said Divya. ‘Just a hint.’ And she started crying, small sobs that were threatening to rise to large gulps any moment. After some time she settled down, and took a deep breath to drown out the sobbing. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
‘I knew nothing,’ she said with a dash of her normal composure. ‘None of us did. Three years ago, it was like we couldn’t get enough of each other. Akash and Ajay and Chitra and another couple of people. And me, of course. In college we did everything together. Studied, ate, chatted, talked about our parents and siblings and bitched about our former girlfriends/boyfriends. Everything.’ She looked at me, though I thought she was seeing something else. ‘Do you understand everything?’
I nodded but Divya wasn’t looking now. ‘And then poof! Gone. All gone. The day we left Nasik, it was as though none of us knew each other.’ The sobs threaten to overcome her again. ‘I can barely remember what Akash looked like. Can you imagine? He was my b..b..best friend! Just three years ago! And now he’s dead.’ The sobs threaten to overcome her again. ‘Cyanide! Where did he get cyanide from? And why, why did he do it? What could have gone wrong? How come none of knew anything? And I checked. None of the others knew either. I mean, what kind of friends were we? Tell me that. One of us was in trouble, and we didn’t have a clue.’
Divya dissolved into tears again. I had no answer to give her, no reassurance to offer. I couldn’t possibly speak my mind to her, that that’s what friendship is about, that you take from it what you choose and give to it what you choose. Being a friend means making choices. Akash made his, and Divya wasn’t it.

Till Death Us Do Part

sangeeta — Mon, 10 May 2010 06:17:16 +0000

It is eight in the morning and the phone rings just once before it is picked up by may father’s ready and waiting hand. For every day, for the past seven years, the phone has rung like this every single day at eight in the morning. Uncle Ram is on the other side. He has been Papa’s closest friend for the past sixty years. Seven years ago, he thought his life had ended when my parents declared their intention of moving to Mumbai from Delhi. Uncle Ram was heartbroken. He had nobody else to turn to now. My friend’s father is seventy eight years old, and behaves like he is seventeen. In 1948, his friends and he, all refugees from Peshawar, started meeting every day from twelve to one. There were eighteen of them. Today there are eight, the rest having died, and they still meet at Embassy restaurant for coffee. They all have arthritis, and hypertension and weak hearts and all the other irritants that nature inflicts upon the human body, but they would rather die than move away from this ritual of meeting up every day. Spouses separate, siblings fight, children abandon parents. What is it about friendship that prevents us from breaking up? We fight, we argue, we move away and don’t meet for years together, we follow our own belief systems, we get entangled with our own families, and then our children’s families, and still we come together as though separation is not within the scope of our imagination. Friends are what make us happy like nothing else in this world.

Cloud 9 Minus One » friendship

Eeny Meeny Miny Friend

Till Death Us Do Part