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He, my friend.
The sun was setting in the horizon. I watched it and wondered should I walk towards it or wait back sitting on this lonely yet serene place, that I called home.
It was late afternoon when I received the news. I didn't know how to react at first, whether to mourn or to just ignore. But of course, I couldn't ignore. Not him. I tried that in school, did that work out?
In fact, when I heard it, I simply left my cabin and went out, skipping lunch and taking the bus to my place, for the first time in years. It's been a long time, since I came back here. Visited my early years of life here in Chennai. A town that shaped me, a town that even a native will laugh at pronouncing, so I will spare you the name.
He, my friend from school, was at first annoying. I was the studious guy and he was the fun loving loafer, who just didn't care. And sitting near me, he began nagging at me, without pause. I hated him at first, but as months passed, I developed his habits and once a class loner, soon I became part of the notorious. Till date, I don't exactly know how, but it just did. That was the kind of guy he was. Now a full fledged member of his group of friends, I was the only odd one out, who despite doing all the monkey business, managed to obtain satisfying grades. But that's the thing. None of them were jealous. They didn't bicker like the others in my class and if they did, it was a sight to see. Most of all was Him. That guy was an audacious little bastard. Never settled anywhere. The teachers had a tough time with him, I'm sure. Though he maintained this aura of happiness around him, he never talked about his own family and what he went through daily, before arriving at school.
I wonder now, could I've done more for him, had I known? No. Definitely not. I knew who I was. The only selfish one, in my group. For some reason, the concept of sharing, without any thought of oneself, made me feel giddy and despite knowing this I wasn't excluded or made fun of. Or was I?
That guy changed me. A lot. Mostly my perspective of people, who were like him. I simply loathed the boys from the locales of the city, who I thought, always talked about girls and nonsense. Over and over again. And ate out for most parts of their lives. I didn't know then, or even try to understand, half the things that they did.
Sitting here in the park bench, behind my school, I realized that I was falling into the nostalgic fervour. It seemed strange, to hear of one of my friends, one who I thought would always be near me, one who would go where I went and one who was simply present for the sake of being. To hear the passing away of one such person, from that past life, that feels like a completely different life felt like a humongous burden of sorrow.
I used to dread death. The very notion of it, made me weak. I thought everyone felt like that about death. But not everyone did, for I was the few that did and among them was He too. My friend. I used to think I had gotten over the fear, but sitting here on the stone bench, I realized I was just as afraid as I was when I was a kid.
The park reminds me. When we were in our teens, back in school, after our tuitions or the skating classes that were held in the park, a whole group of students would gather around. They included the seniors, which was what we were, my friends and I. Then there were the kids, lower than us. We would form big teams and spend the whole night, running around, playing lock and key, making the rest of the people and the keeper mad, by our frenzied running. Then one fine day, everyone vanished. Everyone either grew up or considered themselves. Or they got phones. It was like this that I lost my friend, whose presence I miss so much now, after years. I couldn't contact him, as he didn't use a phone or his parents didn't. Whatsoever the reason was, we all went our separate ways, after we entered high school. We frequently met in the hallways, but the teachers forbade talking in the corridors and then too we tried, but soon lost interest.
He became famous, a known guy in his class, while I became the same insecure guy I was before meeting him.
Apparent I learned I was nothing without him. I didn't blame him though. I don't think I'll ever be able to blame him. Yet the exact reason for our falling out remained a mystery, it still is and it'll forever be.
Karti, a friend from our group in school, called me. He was heartbroken. I thought I could hear him crying. I too wanted to cry, very much. But I couldn't and that fact deepened the pit of unhappiness in me. I didn't ask Karti how it happened. I just ended it and sat back, before deciding to leave.
Now I'm here, pondering over what to do next. Should I go to his house? Console his family? I didn't know. It felt similar, just like when the younger brother of one of the boys in class, died at an early age. My friends all went. But I, though living near him, didn't and only watched from afar, the group of people huddled under the Shamiana. At first I thought it shameful for what I did, but then I realized I just couldn't see that atmosphere of mourning.
Now I had to face the empty mask of what my friend was once. I still recall only his face back from when we were in school. Did he change much? Did he grow facial hair or that stylish beard that he always wanted to?
It was getting dark. I glanced at my phone. It said 7:15 pm. For nearly two hours I had been sitting like this, without even a trace of boredom. There were a ton of messages from my colleagues and my boss. They'll were asking for me. Now I was in a nice settled life. A new job, a wife expecting kids, a new home. But I never wanted this. All I wanted was to be or not to be lonely. That was what I felt and continue feeling so, even after all I've. I feel lonely, surrounded by fake friends, with their own agendas, making me miserable.
There was a reunion, once. Some years ago. In a hotel, where the whole cluster of our batch gathered. I didn't venture there, for I knew that I was a nobody. They'll were different. But I heard that He, my friend was there. Karti said, he looked sad and for some reason, he didn't tell why. It was surprising to hear that, as I knew everyone liked him. But deep inside, I wonder, did he feel sad, that I hadn't made it there?
It's late now, so I decided to go home, but I find myself moving further in, towards my old house. I pass the ground, where we played once. It's still wet and slushy, like it always was and that makes me happy. At least there's something that hasn't changed.
How I wish I had been to that reunion. Talked at least one last time to him, that old buffoon. But now it's too late and the only way I can make up to him, is by turning up at his house for one final goodbye, that I wish I had done when he was. . . was. . . simply there. Like always.
#WritcoAnthology
It was late afternoon when I received the news. I didn't know how to react at first, whether to mourn or to just ignore. But of course, I couldn't ignore. Not him. I tried that in school, did that work out?
In fact, when I heard it, I simply left my cabin and went out, skipping lunch and taking the bus to my place, for the first time in years. It's been a long time, since I came back here. Visited my early years of life here in Chennai. A town that shaped me, a town that even a native will laugh at pronouncing, so I will spare you the name.
He, my friend from school, was at first annoying. I was the studious guy and he was the fun loving loafer, who just didn't care. And sitting near me, he began nagging at me, without pause. I hated him at first, but as months passed, I developed his habits and once a class loner, soon I became part of the notorious. Till date, I don't exactly know how, but it just did. That was the kind of guy he was. Now a full fledged member of his group of friends, I was the only odd one out, who despite doing all the monkey business, managed to obtain satisfying grades. But that's the thing. None of them were jealous. They didn't bicker like the others in my class and if they did, it was a sight to see. Most of all was Him. That guy was an audacious little bastard. Never settled anywhere. The teachers had a tough time with him, I'm sure. Though he maintained this aura of happiness around him, he never talked about his own family and what he went through daily, before arriving at school.
I wonder now, could I've done more for him, had I known? No. Definitely not. I knew who I was. The only selfish one, in my group. For some reason, the concept of sharing, without any thought of oneself, made me feel giddy and despite knowing this I wasn't excluded or made fun of. Or was I?
That guy changed me. A lot. Mostly my perspective of people, who were like him. I simply loathed the boys from the locales of the city, who I thought, always talked about girls and nonsense. Over and over again. And ate out for most parts of their lives. I didn't know then, or even try to understand, half the things that they did.
Sitting here in the park bench, behind my school, I realized that I was falling into the nostalgic fervour. It seemed strange, to hear of one of my friends, one who I thought would always be near me, one who would go where I went and one who was simply present for the sake of being. To hear the passing away of one such person, from that past life, that feels like a completely different life felt like a humongous burden of sorrow.
I used to dread death. The very notion of it, made me weak. I thought everyone felt like that about death. But not everyone did, for I was the few that did and among them was He too. My friend. I used to think I had gotten over the fear, but sitting here on the stone bench, I realized I was just as afraid as I was when I was a kid.
The park reminds me. When we were in our teens, back in school, after our tuitions or the skating classes that were held in the park, a whole group of students would gather around. They included the seniors, which was what we were, my friends and I. Then there were the kids, lower than us. We would form big teams and spend the whole night, running around, playing lock and key, making the rest of the people and the keeper mad, by our frenzied running. Then one fine day, everyone vanished. Everyone either grew up or considered themselves. Or they got phones. It was like this that I lost my friend, whose presence I miss so much now, after years. I couldn't contact him, as he didn't use a phone or his parents didn't. Whatsoever the reason was, we all went our separate ways, after we entered high school. We frequently met in the hallways, but the teachers forbade talking in the corridors and then too we tried, but soon lost interest.
He became famous, a known guy in his class, while I became the same insecure guy I was before meeting him.
Apparent I learned I was nothing without him. I didn't blame him though. I don't think I'll ever be able to blame him. Yet the exact reason for our falling out remained a mystery, it still is and it'll forever be.
Karti, a friend from our group in school, called me. He was heartbroken. I thought I could hear him crying. I too wanted to cry, very much. But I couldn't and that fact deepened the pit of unhappiness in me. I didn't ask Karti how it happened. I just ended it and sat back, before deciding to leave.
Now I'm here, pondering over what to do next. Should I go to his house? Console his family? I didn't know. It felt similar, just like when the younger brother of one of the boys in class, died at an early age. My friends all went. But I, though living near him, didn't and only watched from afar, the group of people huddled under the Shamiana. At first I thought it shameful for what I did, but then I realized I just couldn't see that atmosphere of mourning.
Now I had to face the empty mask of what my friend was once. I still recall only his face back from when we were in school. Did he change much? Did he grow facial hair or that stylish beard that he always wanted to?
It was getting dark. I glanced at my phone. It said 7:15 pm. For nearly two hours I had been sitting like this, without even a trace of boredom. There were a ton of messages from my colleagues and my boss. They'll were asking for me. Now I was in a nice settled life. A new job, a wife expecting kids, a new home. But I never wanted this. All I wanted was to be or not to be lonely. That was what I felt and continue feeling so, even after all I've. I feel lonely, surrounded by fake friends, with their own agendas, making me miserable.
There was a reunion, once. Some years ago. In a hotel, where the whole cluster of our batch gathered. I didn't venture there, for I knew that I was a nobody. They'll were different. But I heard that He, my friend was there. Karti said, he looked sad and for some reason, he didn't tell why. It was surprising to hear that, as I knew everyone liked him. But deep inside, I wonder, did he feel sad, that I hadn't made it there?
It's late now, so I decided to go home, but I find myself moving further in, towards my old house. I pass the ground, where we played once. It's still wet and slushy, like it always was and that makes me happy. At least there's something that hasn't changed.
How I wish I had been to that reunion. Talked at least one last time to him, that old buffoon. But now it's too late and the only way I can make up to him, is by turning up at his house for one final goodbye, that I wish I had done when he was. . . was. . . simply there. Like always.
#WritcoAnthology
