I have been most fortunate to have some of the most adorable people in the world as friends. Since I am sitting in this little balcony in my room at the IFMR hostel, and its a lazy, sultry Saturday night, let me just write about those whacky old cronies of mine.
My brother is younger to me by 5 years. Growing up with him, doing things for him had turned me into someone who always required to do something for people around.
During Engineering, the evenings in the hostel were spent in listening to a friend pouring her heart out, or laughing endlessly over nonsense or cramming textbooks together.I needed my quiet time but I couldn't imaging a life without the buddies.
After graduation, we were all sad at being posted at different locations for our respective jobs.At the same time we were trying to become serious professionals (whatever that meant).
All of us swore that no matter where we were, we would always remain in touch.
This was the motivation behind perfectly crazy incidents after we parted.
Like frantically transferring contact numbers from an old sim card to a new one. Then sending a message to many which reads 'Hi.This is my new number. blah blah'.
Looking back, these were the reasons the strong bonds were fostered. Resulting in the kind of affection that doesn't require a call every two days, in a love which isn't insecure because it knows that no matter how many new friends come along, the old ones will still remain and in an understanding which can be spoken by just a smile when we finally meet after long intervals, with a different haircut or a new bike, but essentially unchanged from within.
All this meant a lot of change.Problem-solving now translated to long STD calls and huge telephone bills. The birthdays had to be remembered now. Moreover each one of us made new friends. Which meant more birthdays and more telephone numbers. Social networking became essential to survival. Orkut, Facebook , Twitter. To share the pain, the long-drawn relief from cigarettes, Tata-sky and its thousand heads, cooking and then eating outside because the food was not palatable, 10 books to read, a hundred songs to hear and all that jazz.
Somehow it never is enough.