She sat at the edge, where the waves rushed in to
eat up the sand and wet her ankles.
Wondering where Savita was at this moment and what she was doing. She missed her desperately. Perhaps some friendships do fall by the
wayside. No! Not theirs! She couldn’t accept
that. How can that be? A heavy heart
returned home to evening chores and a hungry family.
Her husband asked Geetu for the hundredth time, “Why
don’t you talk to Savita? Maybe she wants you to call or write. Anyone can do it first, no?” No. Some demon possessed Geetu.
Days of heaviness stretched to months, and months
to years. Her children grew up to their
teens and pursued their passions. So did
Geetu. She wrote and wrote and
wrote. A gazillion words, and published
not one.
The husband suggested as he had been doing all
these years, “Why not email Savita? Get it out of your system.” He got a stare for his trouble. And
persevered. “Hey, I know what. Don’t email. Write her a letter. Pen and
paper. You don’t have to post it! Just for yourself.” That got her cautious attention.
Geetu sat up that night at her favourite spot
under the dim lights and started writing.
And couldn’t stop. Letter after
letter after letter poured out of her, speaking of their friendship, and all
the memories and the good old days and what went sour. What did go sour? She had some vague ideas, her
own perceptions, but she couldn’t be certain what her friend felt. She poured her heart out and wrote through
the night.
The next morning, her family sauntered into the
living room to find her packed and ready.
She announced that she is going to see Savita. The man closed his eyes and heaved a sigh of
relief. “At last!” The children
protested half-heartedly. “Ma, Savita
aunty and uncle live in ________. 36 hours!” They could now look forward to
sandwiches, noodles and some late night TV! Hurray!
Geetu took a flight and reached her friend’s city
in less than 5 hours. She got a cab to
the university that both, Savita and her partner taught and lived in. She had found all, through their
common friends. She now wondered that
they would gossip, as she went searching for the institution area. It was work time and they might be in the
classrooms. A tumult of thoughts, she
signed in the register as a guest and went to the waiting room. Then unable to sit still, she started wandering and peeking
around.
The bell rang indicating recess, and Savita was
glad that she could rest her throat and feet.
She walked into the staff room, and stopped dead! Her face split into a wide smile even as her
eyes filled and she rushed to her friend, as Geetu started towards her. They hugged and laughed and cried together as
the others watched with a mixture of curiosity, amusement and reflected
pleasure. The years seemed to melt
away. Savita’s colleagues milled about
them a bit. Then they went away to their work one by one.
After the storm subsided, Savita said, “Wait, I
want to show you something.” She rooted
around in a cupboard and pulled out a book.
The College yearbook. Savita
pointed to the year. It was dated 6
years earlier. She then turned the book
to a page and pushed it to her friend, “I wrote this piece.”
It was titled, “Letter To A Friend”. Geetu gulped and read.
Dear beloved friend,
Time and life happen to us. As we grow through them, we may grow closer
or apart. This is one of those natural
phenomena that occur. But the heart is
unable to accept this. Not our friendship. Have we grown so apart that we don’t even
know how to reach out to each other? There is something that does not want
distance. Is it not sad that I want to
write to you, and do not know where to start and what to say. I do not know what moves you anymore, and I feel
that you do not know what moves me. But
there is something that is beyond all this.
That comes out of love. That
comes out of the memories of talking nonstop for hours together, sometimes
finishing each other’s sentences.
Memories of making sense of one’s own life and world through sharing it
with the other; of walking down the beach as we talked about everything under
the sun and above it and beyond; of a time and space with not one whit of
judgment. We grew up together. Do you remember the time that we were young
together and giggling over our crushes? Then there was the time of talking
seriously about marriage and responsibility and aspirations. Then there were the times of tears and
catfights and bonding over some movies and smirking at each other over
others. The times of gorging on chaat
and Russian salad. If there were times of raucous Word games and
earth-shattering political discussions, there were also times of harmonious
silences, like while watching that bird or walking around the lake. Then also came the times of puzzlement and
mystery when we hardly understood each other…. …
At this point, Geetu again started laughing and
crying maniacally. Savita could just
look on, a little perplexed and concerned, trying to touch her comfortingly. Her friend then rummaged about in her bag,
pulled out a sheaf of papers and shoved it under Savita’s nose.
She skimmed through the pages lightly at
first. Then, arrested, she started
reading a page, eyes getting wider and wider, taking on a sheen. The words were very nearly the same! Much of
what was in those papers mirrored much of what she had said in her piece and what
she might have said had she written more!
Six months later, Savita and Geetu co-authored and
published a book, Letters To A Friend.
My friend snapped my notebook shut and shot at me,
“What a crappy story! Don’t post it anywhere. If you want to talk to
Meenu, just do it na. What’s with all this melodramatic writing.”
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