I remember Varsha had once said to me that I was a different person—a person who found it difficult to talk, to mingle, and one who finds discomfort in the easiest and simplest of matters. Maybe she’s right. Yesterday, I found her phone number I was searching for, and called up Varsha and I was asked to come over. I was nervous, which is so typical of me. I stopped over at the milk store to buy a packet of Pedas, I wore my best set of cloths and put on a friendly smile. This was it, I was going to face my friend again, after two entire years of complete separation….we were finally going to talk. We were going to talk— I hate that word…only the two of us…I wondered what I could say. I would be hearing Varsha’s voice again, closer and clearer, and hopefully, a lot more friendlier than it had been two years ago. I would be, once again, staring into her eyes, talking, laughing and sharing memories.
Mom said she would drop me at Varsha’s place and leave. I felt a nagging worry, queasiness that she was deserting me, the terror of abandonment….pretty childish right? I felt exactly like the first time that I entered into kindergarten. You know, when your parents leave you in Nursery school and wave you off, and you are suddenly faced with something you need to deal with alone? My problem is I cannot deal with things. I need people to be there to instruct, guide and teach me. Maybe my mother sensed I was feeling quite a bit uncomfortable and decided to hang around for sometime, in the Verandah, but she was clear that she would not intrude into our conversation.
The first fifteen minutes were spent in absolute silence. I never begin a conversation. I wait for the other person to start. And I waited for Varsha patiently. She waited for me. We occasionally threw smiles at each other, and I spent quite a lot of time staring at the dregs of Bounvita left behind in my teacup and took keen interest in the brass trophies Varsha’s brother had won in Lawn tennis competitions. Varsha stared at the TV, and coughed. Oh, god, why isn’t she speaking? Does she still hate me? Meanwhile, precious time is ticking away…I look at mother for support, but she is already engaged in animated conversation with Varsha’s mother. I have no choice. I have to be the one to start. I open my mouth, close it. I open my mouth again, twice, and say nothing. No words come, the silence is still haunting. Maybe someone should give me a pen. I could write a 50 page book, then and there….but why aren’t the words coming to my tongue? Finally, miraculously, out pops a feeble, “How’s college, Varsha?”
She’s now looking at me. She shrugs, and finally, the formalness melts, and Varsha’s casual tone creeps into her strong voice, “Fine, but worse than school, you know.”
I am relieved to hear her talking so normally again. So, here bursts out a successful conversation.
“Why don’t you come into my room, Lakshmi?”
“Sure,”
That talk stretched for an hour. Suddenly, I was talking more. Mom wasen;t there beside me, but I was talking like the old times, with absolute ease. We had broken the ice, and we were talking so fast that we covered everything from college, school, friends, family, interests, academics in less than an hour. I did not believe that this could have been so easy, and I had restricted myself from doing this for two years. The topic reverted to school. She talked about everyone—even her enemies at school.
“You know,” she chuckled, “ It’s weird that the only people I hate are the people I like,”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s funny, it’s quite difficult to explain. It turns out that the people I usually quarrel with are often my best pals, get it?”
“No,”
“Well, I cannot hate a person, you see…”
“You cannot?”
“No, I mean, it’s no one’s right to hate anyone else. No one deserves to be hated.”
“So, you did not hate me when I was in school?”
“Nah, you know, you were the one who just took it to the heart. I did not mean the things I said back then. You just take a lot of things literally. I don’t hate you.”
You see, this is why I like Varsha. She’s forgiving, and although she is stubborn in her views, she is clear in her expression. She admits things easily, confesses when necessary and lives with an open heart. She does not hide her feelings.
“I can be mean sometimes, I cannot help it, I am like that.” She says.
“You’re not a bad person, Varsha,”
“Well…” she says, analyzing herself, “It depends on how you look at it. I can be good, and I firmly believe that the things I do are right, but when the world thinks I am wrong, then I become a bad person….my college thinks I am a villain, just because I stand up and object the wrong things.”
The conversation drifted endlessly, and it reminded me of some of the old warmth that we shared. But, to be absolutely honest, the complete truth is that there is still an incompleteness, a void which cannot be filled. I doubt if anything can replace it. It’s wrong to expect too. We have grown up, and, well, we cannot possibly have retained all that innocence, those dreams, ambitions we had as children. We cannot forget that this is just ‘patch-up’ work and a conscious effort to regain a strained relationship. There is an air of artificial deliberateness, we are careful in our actions, and have control over our tongues. Somewhere, I cannot help but feel that the natural friendship which blossomed and united us unconsciously, fruitfully, has ended in carefully planned reunion, after two years. But I am happy that I finally reconciled, and for now, that is enough. Thanks, Varsha, for forgiving me….
Showing posts with label Friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Friends. Show all posts
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
A Silent Reunion
Let me tell you a story of an old school rivalry which turned friends into foes. It’s my story. It’s a story of how a simple misunderstanding led to ghastly misinterpretations even before each of us got a chance to correct ourselves and realize our mistakes. It’s the story of me and my best friend Varsha.
No one in school knew Varsha as well as I did. She was a complex person to understand and she did look different with those heavy eyes which spoke of inaction. Only Lakshmi Bharadwaj knew how those eyes which seemed so dull could acquire that cold, hard glacial glint when Varsha was bent upon something. Only I understood her deepest fears, and Varsha confided only in me. We were thick friends—so thick that the English teacher had called us ‘Chip n’ Dale’. In the last year of my school life someone suggested that I move up front in Chemistry classes. I hated the backbench where I was seated next to Varsha, because I felt uncomfortable there but she loved it. So, I asked weather we could move up front together. She said she couldn’t. Maybe I was being harsh, stupid….I simply got up, moved front without saying anything as simple as a ‘See ya later’ or offering any sort of explanation. This rude action of mine, Varsha suddenly interpreted that I hated her. She felt ignored. She asked me to say sorry.
I couldn’t accept my mistake. I pretended I did not do anything wrong, and I did not like saying ‘sorry’ for everything. Imagine, such a very small trivial matter culminated in a bitter chasm. We argued relentlessly, aggressively—it was a battle of words. And Varsha was clear in expressing herself, and she gave me a glare and said, “You’re not my friend anymore until you say sorry, and learn to accept mistakes!” I inflated, I was angry. I was a fool who didn’t see a point in her words. I thought I could manage without her. I could find better friends….I could get more popular then. 17th of June 2005, it was, I still remember the date. I went home thinking Varsha would somehow forget everything, and the next day would be perfect.
Conrtrary to my happy belief, our relationship crumbled, and every school day became a visit to nightmareville. From that day, we stopped talking and from then…the backbench turned silent. The cascade of laughter, the giggles and chortles under the teacher;s nose were missing….the fun had evaporated, and the surroundings had turned grimly silent. The truth was, each of us felt very hollow inside, (Varsha’s eyes betrayed all her feelings) and both of us felt like compromising. But none of us did it. I was adamantly stubborn. I did not like being called a ‘betrayer!, and I chose to remain mute.
It was only when I joined college, and Varsha went somewhere else, I felt that overwhelming emptiness and accepted that this was all due to my mistake. I knew a glorious relationship which was blooming had died, and I also realized it was too late for me to do anything. Varsha had chosen to move along a different path, and I had chosen mine. We had moved away….far away from each other, and my conscience pricked me and said, “You should have said sorry!” The anger which was so strong in the beginning of the year had waned, and I felt like going back to her, hold her hand and say “I’m really sorry buddy, I shouldn’t have ignored you!”….but the sorry never came.
Wednesday, when I was attending a cousin’s musical audition, I felt that I heard Varsha’s voice. Even after two long years, that voice was not forgotten…I instinctively sensed she was there, and she was! She was sitting just a row behind me. My heart raced, I turned Magenta, and I felt a weight of a stone in my stomach. I could have said it. I could have screamed out the words. But I was stuttering horribly, I was shaking all over. I wanted a precise confession, I complete understanding of my accumulated guilt. Guess what I did? I wrote a five page ‘sorry’. It’s the biggest letter I have written to anyone. Writing, I believe is the best form of expression, better than talking anyway, I’m horribly bad speaker. My heart stopped as she read it,…but then, she smiled!
She did something unexpected. She wrote back too. She wrote something like this;
“ Lakshmi, I’m not as good as a writer as you are, so I staunchly apologize if this letter conveys any wrong message to you. I don’t intend to say anything wrong, because we’ve always been FRIENDS, right? I believe a lot in friendship….this letter is to tell you that I don’t hate you, and how glad I am to see you. But ultimately, I thank you for not having broken the relationship of 10 years….and I don’t really know what to say.”
We could have simply talked. But then, talking wouldn’t have helped me. I knew I would have stammered, stuttered, and jumbled up words in the excitement, and a confession would look like a mutter of some gibberish which Varsha could not have comprehended. My letter spoke for me. Before the audition could end, and I could shake Varsha’s hand and express how grateful I was—before the golden moment of saying, ‘Thanks, mate!’, Varsha had disappeared. I knew her well, and she was always a quick-spirited person. She had suddenly disappeared, like a shadow, out of the line of my vision. She had disappeared as abruptly and silently as she had come. But I had her letter, I had her reply, and the written words consoled me.
I plan to call up Varsha sometime after I find her number in an old diary. We both were great friends, and I’m happy that our friendship has revived. When I turn the pages of my mental album, I can clearly see the picture of two young girls sitting near a construction site, legs and buckled shoes dangling, nibbling on Alphabet yummies, waiting for our mothers and whispering together, “We’re the greatest friends the earth has ever seen!” And one of those girls still says we are!
No one in school knew Varsha as well as I did. She was a complex person to understand and she did look different with those heavy eyes which spoke of inaction. Only Lakshmi Bharadwaj knew how those eyes which seemed so dull could acquire that cold, hard glacial glint when Varsha was bent upon something. Only I understood her deepest fears, and Varsha confided only in me. We were thick friends—so thick that the English teacher had called us ‘Chip n’ Dale’. In the last year of my school life someone suggested that I move up front in Chemistry classes. I hated the backbench where I was seated next to Varsha, because I felt uncomfortable there but she loved it. So, I asked weather we could move up front together. She said she couldn’t. Maybe I was being harsh, stupid….I simply got up, moved front without saying anything as simple as a ‘See ya later’ or offering any sort of explanation. This rude action of mine, Varsha suddenly interpreted that I hated her. She felt ignored. She asked me to say sorry.
I couldn’t accept my mistake. I pretended I did not do anything wrong, and I did not like saying ‘sorry’ for everything. Imagine, such a very small trivial matter culminated in a bitter chasm. We argued relentlessly, aggressively—it was a battle of words. And Varsha was clear in expressing herself, and she gave me a glare and said, “You’re not my friend anymore until you say sorry, and learn to accept mistakes!” I inflated, I was angry. I was a fool who didn’t see a point in her words. I thought I could manage without her. I could find better friends….I could get more popular then. 17th of June 2005, it was, I still remember the date. I went home thinking Varsha would somehow forget everything, and the next day would be perfect.
Conrtrary to my happy belief, our relationship crumbled, and every school day became a visit to nightmareville. From that day, we stopped talking and from then…the backbench turned silent. The cascade of laughter, the giggles and chortles under the teacher;s nose were missing….the fun had evaporated, and the surroundings had turned grimly silent. The truth was, each of us felt very hollow inside, (Varsha’s eyes betrayed all her feelings) and both of us felt like compromising. But none of us did it. I was adamantly stubborn. I did not like being called a ‘betrayer!, and I chose to remain mute.
It was only when I joined college, and Varsha went somewhere else, I felt that overwhelming emptiness and accepted that this was all due to my mistake. I knew a glorious relationship which was blooming had died, and I also realized it was too late for me to do anything. Varsha had chosen to move along a different path, and I had chosen mine. We had moved away….far away from each other, and my conscience pricked me and said, “You should have said sorry!” The anger which was so strong in the beginning of the year had waned, and I felt like going back to her, hold her hand and say “I’m really sorry buddy, I shouldn’t have ignored you!”….but the sorry never came.
Wednesday, when I was attending a cousin’s musical audition, I felt that I heard Varsha’s voice. Even after two long years, that voice was not forgotten…I instinctively sensed she was there, and she was! She was sitting just a row behind me. My heart raced, I turned Magenta, and I felt a weight of a stone in my stomach. I could have said it. I could have screamed out the words. But I was stuttering horribly, I was shaking all over. I wanted a precise confession, I complete understanding of my accumulated guilt. Guess what I did? I wrote a five page ‘sorry’. It’s the biggest letter I have written to anyone. Writing, I believe is the best form of expression, better than talking anyway, I’m horribly bad speaker. My heart stopped as she read it,…but then, she smiled!
She did something unexpected. She wrote back too. She wrote something like this;
“ Lakshmi, I’m not as good as a writer as you are, so I staunchly apologize if this letter conveys any wrong message to you. I don’t intend to say anything wrong, because we’ve always been FRIENDS, right? I believe a lot in friendship….this letter is to tell you that I don’t hate you, and how glad I am to see you. But ultimately, I thank you for not having broken the relationship of 10 years….and I don’t really know what to say.”
We could have simply talked. But then, talking wouldn’t have helped me. I knew I would have stammered, stuttered, and jumbled up words in the excitement, and a confession would look like a mutter of some gibberish which Varsha could not have comprehended. My letter spoke for me. Before the audition could end, and I could shake Varsha’s hand and express how grateful I was—before the golden moment of saying, ‘Thanks, mate!’, Varsha had disappeared. I knew her well, and she was always a quick-spirited person. She had suddenly disappeared, like a shadow, out of the line of my vision. She had disappeared as abruptly and silently as she had come. But I had her letter, I had her reply, and the written words consoled me.
I plan to call up Varsha sometime after I find her number in an old diary. We both were great friends, and I’m happy that our friendship has revived. When I turn the pages of my mental album, I can clearly see the picture of two young girls sitting near a construction site, legs and buckled shoes dangling, nibbling on Alphabet yummies, waiting for our mothers and whispering together, “We’re the greatest friends the earth has ever seen!” And one of those girls still says we are!
Sunday, July 15, 2007
A Lost Friendship
When I was a kid, there were five of us—Me, Shruthi, Shravya, Monisha and Pooja. We were what you could call “inseparable friends”. We were into doing everything together—playing, fighting, sharing…teasing. I now look back and think how precious that friendship was. It is not that now we are all arch rivals, or that we hate each other now, but growing up has changed us. We are different. We now know our manners, and we know we need to be dignified in speech and expression. We are not anymore those sissies who shared with each other the stories of how scared we were of going to bathroom alone at night, how the howling winds scared us, or how we secretly cried when our mothers scolded us. Sometimes, I hope that we could all have remained the same way we were as kids—stubborn, happy, and absolute pranksters.
Well, we all live so close to each other, just around the same street corner. But now, all of us are as far away from each other as the earth and mars. I don’t know what is going on with the others. Life’s so busy that I can just manage to smile and drop a quick ‘Hi’ to my friend shruthi from the balcony. Shravya is now a deep thinker, and academically absorbed in her work, and it would be sinful on my part to interrupt her. Pooja has ‘cooler’ friends and Monisha is busy with AIEEE classes. What happened to the leisurely days of scrambling across stones, pulling each other’s hair and throwing paper rockets at passerby? What happened to those giggles, laughter and dreams that we shared with each other? Somethings make be feel bitter. I don’t know if it is just me, or my friends feel it too…I want that friendship to return. I want more leisurely summers to spend…I want the fun back in life. All of them are pretty young girls now, smart, totally dignified, but if I know them well, they are hiding in their shells. I think they too miss the fun…it’s not enjoyable to pretend to be ‘adultish’ anymore. Something as precious as friendship should not be lost. I have decided that something ought to be done. We shouldn’t meander away from each other like this. Perhaps, if I gather all of them, and if we visit the local park together, the visit will reveal something which I already know…that they too wish to have the friendship back….I am hopeful that the ‘inseparable friends’ shall become truly inseparable forever.
Well, we all live so close to each other, just around the same street corner. But now, all of us are as far away from each other as the earth and mars. I don’t know what is going on with the others. Life’s so busy that I can just manage to smile and drop a quick ‘Hi’ to my friend shruthi from the balcony. Shravya is now a deep thinker, and academically absorbed in her work, and it would be sinful on my part to interrupt her. Pooja has ‘cooler’ friends and Monisha is busy with AIEEE classes. What happened to the leisurely days of scrambling across stones, pulling each other’s hair and throwing paper rockets at passerby? What happened to those giggles, laughter and dreams that we shared with each other? Somethings make be feel bitter. I don’t know if it is just me, or my friends feel it too…I want that friendship to return. I want more leisurely summers to spend…I want the fun back in life. All of them are pretty young girls now, smart, totally dignified, but if I know them well, they are hiding in their shells. I think they too miss the fun…it’s not enjoyable to pretend to be ‘adultish’ anymore. Something as precious as friendship should not be lost. I have decided that something ought to be done. We shouldn’t meander away from each other like this. Perhaps, if I gather all of them, and if we visit the local park together, the visit will reveal something which I already know…that they too wish to have the friendship back….I am hopeful that the ‘inseparable friends’ shall become truly inseparable forever.
