Come what may I intend to seat ashore the sea near my home
throughout a moonlit night. I will listen to the secret tales of affairs she
murmurs in solitude. I will hear the stories of the islands she is impregnated
with, the longing that drives them to reach out to each other in despair and
the saddest song they sing at night as seldom they find another part of the
hardened earth to fit in side by side. I will think about the friend I have met
in my life, sitting there. Blissful the life is, I will remember their very
existence in gratitude.
The quarrel started with request to download a mobapp. The problem
with this generation is they converse with pinging and hardly take time to go
beyond the face value of the pinged conversation. Hence certain hastily nod or
refusal can spark a conflict even without the knowledge of the communicators,
little did I know that at that point of time. Also the protagonist character
happened to be a friend for previous ten twelve years…You see, I forgot the
count of time. The follow up to that request resulted in sudden comparison with
Insurance agents. And as they proclaim, words have immense power to hurt
people, I accomplish the cruel task and end up with a mess. The following days
witnessed us unfriending each other from social networking sites, long silence
in friends groups, and several you want to ping but you will not ping moments.
With time flying high, we get pass the incident and learn to live without the
daily virtual connection until I visit my city.
Until I visit my city, I can never understand the eagerness
she keeps in her sacks to spellbound me. It is as if she offers to make up for
the modern amenities she lacks for which I find an excuse to leave her, only to
return with increased zeal.
It was one of those days when I set out to travel from one
part of the city to the other side, generally accompanied by my brother. Hot
and humid the city is, we tried to find refuse in one of the less crowded air conditioned
bus, nonetheless could not manage a seat either of us. Suddenly my generous
sibling points out to me, “Nani, look who is sitting there.” In my surprise I
find out the fighter friend of mine is present inside the bus, occupying a
coveted window seat.
A sudden gush of guilt engulfs me. I know I should go, greet
him because he had let me know the first that he had bought a DSLR camera and
promised me nth number of snaps I could have asked for. I feel I should smile
the amiable smile because I scored the highest in coaching center copying from
his notebook during school days. I feel the urge to tell him I so very wanted
to meet him and visit the same theatre hall we had been to a year ago and share
a plate of biryani while discussing this meagerness of life. I wanted to ask if
he has found the love of his life, whether his wounds have been healed or he
was able to forget the unjust behavior he had experienced in office previously.
I know I should tell him that he does not look very well. Is it the work pressure
or the rustic life back home? It is my duty to enquire about the last date and
the progress he have had as he had been out with one of my girlfriends and
spoke to her at length about the Bakkhali sea and how it gleams in the moonlight.
I had to tell him my share of story too. I had to let him know that I am past over
my somnambulism days and happier now. People, who have known me better claim
that I am “calm and composed”. I wanted to thank him because he had been there
when I was at despair by practicing a rigorous diet plan to get thin and impress
a random individual or was confused right before trimester exams and used to
wake up middle of the night perspiring and had to talk to a friend. He was patient
all those days. I wanted to tell him
about the new places I have been to, the new books I have read, the new writer
that mesmerized me or the old friend I met
in the office place.
Reality differs heavily from what we presume to be an easy
way of life. There was a point of time we used to count days to meet each other
during exhibitions or prize distribution ceremonies since the scope of
coeducation was limited only to private coaching classes, that too under strict
surveillance of parents. And here we are, all grown up, down the line a decade,
hesitating to talk to each other due to an unprecedented fight and enormous
ego. People change, I understand, but what about the child within?
I look back, find him stealing a glance with me, ask my
brother to go have a talk with him which he ignores. I look at the smartphone,
hoping against hope that he will send across a text message, “oi”. He don’t. In
my mind, I have a thought saying it was just one fight. Legends say these occasional
conflicts are like Satan’s marriage. The longer they last, bigger the family
they produce. Hereby it becomes my responsibility
to destroy the marriage and bring back sanctity to the civil society. All these
philosophies run through my mind and I realize all that I wanted to do at that
moment was to say hi to this stupid friend of mine. All those moments I awaited
the warmth of a single nod or text pinged by him. The bus was speeding through
the road, soon to reach its destination. I looked back gain to find him smile.
I saw the glint in his eyes through the specs and knew the friend sitting there
was no different from the one I saw years ago struggling to make a point in
front of the teacher about his stand on a certain chapter of chemistry (don’t remember,
not a big fan here). And he smiles, again.
Someday I will seat beside the seashore and think about this
tiny little life of mine. I will think of the friends that I had over the years
who had overwhelmed me with their presence, from miles apart. I will think of
the sense of self-actualization I attain everytime I meet a soulmate here and
there, scattered through the timeline.
