A Moment of Reflection

‘Speak to us of Friendship’

For the first time, I felt the presence of a hand. The invisible hand turning the pages, revealing thoughts and spurring emotions I did not want to feel, and certainly did not want to recount. A hand carrying the mastery of the blacksmith, smooth and knowing, an expert in his field. Reaching deep within the multiple knots of emotions, trying desperately to untangle.

Indeed it was a friendship to be cherished, and one that we had never worked towards, but allowed to blossom with grace. We grew up together after all. ‘Bum chums’ as they say. She knew everything about me, and I everything about her. Contemporary times demand contemporary emotions of ‘BFF’ and a selfie of remembrance. But we had none of those. We were just simple school girls, cycling together every evening, and sharing a thought or two. Music turned out to be an integral part of who we were. The essential ingredient in our bond of friendship. Innocence was the other. Simplicity kept us safe in happy spaces of childhood.

He’s right. She was my need answered. My confidant, partner and sister. She was always there. Always helping me out, always rescuing me. Playing the big sister. But also, the better sister. It never seemed to bother me then. She was still there. And I needed her.

But then, the joy was always claimed. She wanted the spot light, and enjoyed the spot light. She revelled in the attention when on stage and also when not. The credit, the claps, the encouragement the pat on the back. That was her motivation and that was her pride. The person seemed to matter little, and most often that person was me. It was all about rising, and all about the glory in reaching the top. And over the years, that’s all that seemed to matter. Like a silent beast by my side who grew larger in our friendship, while I stood by the corner.

And this began to reflect in our spirits. I grieved. Every time we parted, I grieved. Not out of longing, but out of anger and thirst. I needed her comfort and sympathy, while she was compelled to compete. Friendship was not a race. It was a bond. Or so I wanted it to be. There was a certain purity in childish innocence, one that seemed sufficient to keep us going till we were seventy. But, clearly not. We were growing up, and there were other people, situations and egos that demanded more.

And as we grew older, we grew more apart, and more distant. We didn’t speak, for words would only be a masquerade to the truth. There was little to say and little to dwell on.

And one day, the spirit in me spoke. It brought out the worst, the ugliest and beastly side that I hoped would live hidden and perish poor, deep within me. But it had swollen too wide and too wise for my containment, and out came the words spilling. There wasn’t much thought and neither much action. Simply cold hearted hatred. Hate so pure and deep rooted that there seemed to be no origin to this stream of ugliness. The words poured reflecting regret, anger, angst and bitterness. Emotions I would never want to associate with myself, let alone let her discover. She was precious. Was.

And it has been more than a year, of avoidance and regret. The colour has painted itself grey in our memories. For what took me one day to paint black could only fade so much. I was ashamed of who I had turned into that day. Ashamed of the words I had so comfortably let lose to ruin whatever little remained between us. Little did I know that I could push someone so precious and so close, so far away. There was no laughter, and there was no sharing of happiness. There was nothing. Nothing but cold bitterness.

And the hand turned the page. ‘Speak of Talking…You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts’