F.R.I.E.N.D.S

Just watched rerun of couple of FRIENDS episodes after long time. Mukta and I love them. Once a while we liked to watch couple of random episodes of these series before sleep. And we felt nice.

Friends are an integral part of our lives. We cannot stay without them. I was very attached to my friends from childhood. My parents always said that they knew all my friends whereas my brothers never introduced their friends at home. Yes my friends were always a part of my extended family.

Over years I realized that when my friends got into relationships they would kind of drift apart from the group. Others then would get jealous and ‘lonely’ of being single and take drastic steps. Once when I mentioned this to my one friend he said, ‘Pramesh, all go through this. When you have a girlfriend or a wife she wouldn’t like you hanging with your friends all the time. And neither will you like her to be with her friends often’.

And I dreaded this.

One of the main qualities of Mukta I loved from beginning is how much she liked to be with friends and how close they were for her. When I visited her parents in Pune the first time, her grandmom commented, “Mukta’s friends often visit us, her brothers’ we never meet”.

I was glad.

From our friendship to our marriage and beyond we have encountered many friends between us. From the time her friends tried to prevent us getting together for her good to the times when we discuss intimate things, friends have been now a part of our family here.

When I was in Bangalore and she was alone in Hyderabad, those were testing times. There were friends who held us together, gave us strength to go on. When we had almost broken up, there were friends who prayed for us and promised their Gods visits and offerings. When things were looking bleak for us there were our friends who gave us hope. And when we got together there were friends who shed tears of happiness with us. How can we forget the help each of our friends at our wedding? Oh yea with different cultures and ways it wouldn’t possibly be so smooth without our friends. And how can we forget the happiness our friends shared for our first day of the married life and continue to do so.

How can I forget when my friends took care of me when I was in Hyderabad. I cried when I got my first salary and he consoled me.

How can I forget my friends taking care of me in Bangalore. Cooking soups and stew for me when I was not well.

How can I forget the 10-12 people +small 2bhk apartment + big kettle of tea + one old movie at 2 in the night.

How can I forget 3 friends + 3 different places in world + a conference call.

How can I forget my weaknesses and my strengths.

In my life I have had sparks and even fought with some friends. But when I think back I realize it was always my benefit he/she spoke for. How can I forget my friends in college shouting at me to gather and go ahead with my studies when I was ready to quit. How can I forget my friends gathering in groups to give me advice? Most of the times they were right, sometimes they were wrong. But they always thought good of me. And I must say I was privileged to have true friends.

Even today both, Mukta and me have a special relation with our friends. We can’t be more than couple of days without meeting them. We get onto each other’s nerves. We fight and we irritate each other. We not just like having friends around us, we need them. There might be good or bad things going on in our lives, discussing with our friends makes it so very small and so much easier to cope with. Being together makes all the pains go away. Sometimes we fight, other times we make up and enjoy, and I realize it all a part of being together.

As we get deeper in our own lives I am sure there might be more and more distances and time between us. But we both know one thing for certain, whenever we want to share sadness or happiness there will always be a friend there.

Don’t know what made me write this at this time in the night, just out from a sickness. Maybe it was the dream I had last night about a good friend gone separate or maybe Mukta feeling low and missing one of her friends whom she hardly speaks to these days or maybe just watching the series after a long time. Would like to end on the jingle from the series though;

It's like you're always stuck in second gear,

Well, it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, or even your year.

But, I'll be there for you, when the rain starts to pour.

I'll be there for you, like I've been there before.

I'll be there for you, cause you're there for me too.

Not Pami any more…

The cock crowing in the foggy morning was the first thing I heard today. It’s wonderful feeling waking up at the sounds of nature than the shouts of hawkers and horns of irritated commuters.

It’s been one year I left that behind. One year since I moved from the chaos of the city to the peace of this small town where the milkman still comes on cycle and the lone auto rickshaw driver knows everyone’s names and addresses.

It’s been one year since I got married.

I got up, switched on the geyser and went into the kitchen to make tea. Kunal needs the aroma of a strong tea to wake up. I removed the milk from the fridge and put it on the stove and opened the backyard door. I like doing this first thing in the morning, the smell of fog, wood smoke and jasmine flowers in our backyard is heavenly.

“Happy Wedding Anniversary sweetheart,” he hugged me from behind. I love when he does that. His strong arms holding me like he will never leave me, his hug firm yet tender like he will protect me yet take care of me. And a smile on his face.

“Happy Anniversary to you too dear. Where is my gift?” A woman likes the act of receiving gifts more than the gift itself.

“I gift my life to you, Shama”, he says dramatically and laughing he conjures out a red rose and going down on one knee offers it to me.

……

“I love you”, he said going down on one knee, with the smile I could die for and presented me with a red rose.

“I hate roses, you know that. Still you always get roses, can’t you get any other flowers”, I said in mock anger.

“But a rose is the most beautiful flower, and red rose is universal symbol of love.” He gave his usual clarification. But I loved him and even if he gave me a cactus I would accept.

“Come on Pami, atleast say you love me.” He insisted. He pouted and I just melted in his arms. “I love you, so much.” I cooed.

It was almost three years we were going out. Tushar and I met in college. He was 2 years my senior and considered as a nerd. My friends always thought our pair was an unusual one. He a topper of the class, an arranged marriage category, favorite of all the teachers. I a tomboy, happy go lucky, more in the canteen and less in classroom types girl. Our meeting too was unusual. I was in second year and he in last. I had never seen him before. I called out to him rather arrogantly to rag him. Reflecting back I realized what a good sportsman he was to actually put that football under his t-shirt and act pregnant. Even though he knew I was junior to him. He claimed that he always had crush on me and this was one chance he got to impress me. I always teased that he was scared of me. But I dint care. Over period of time we became good friends and then he proposed.

We were of the same caste and when I was in final year we announced our relationship at our respective homes. My parents were very happy and after he’s parents met me they too were excited (I don’t know what they approved of me though). A love story with only a prologue and epilogue, my book worm always commented. I had just joined a reputed company and was back for a short weekend. He was well progressing in his field, in two years already a team lead and would be travelling to US soon on a two months official trip. This was sort of a “will miss you” date.

The city of my work was only 4 hours train travel from the city of my stay. Every weekend I used to travel home. And as Tushar was lucky to get a job in the same city where we stayed I got to meet him every weekend. My parents always taunted me that I was acting already married. “You should write your name as Pramila Gupta”, my mom would say.

Whenever I used to come home, I hardly was at home. If I were at home that would mean Tushar was at my house too. My mother loved him. She used to say he was like a son she never had. They both were into literature, writing poems and reading books more than TV. Come on what type of people don’t like TV, roadies and big boss… that’s fun isn’t it. My father only complained of one thing. Tushar did not drink. He always wanted a son in law who would sit for a drink with him. What type of man doesn’t drink? Even beer? Was his question. But he loved Tushar.

And they thought that he was very virtuous. Well they had no confidence in me but were very happy that Tushar wouldn’t dream of “defiling” me before marriage. Which century were they in? Tushar often came over on weekdays to where I worked and stayed with me in my 1BHK where I stayed alone. And he worked from home, during days for professional and nights for personal reasons. During those days I was always late going to office.

And now he was going. For 2 months. That’s 8 weekends, 60 days, 1440 hours. Long distance calls and skype chat would be our mediators. I hated him, his job and his company. Since the time I heard about his trip I always fought with him and got irritated with my parents.

“Come on Pami, just 2 months.” He would say. Yeah easy for you to say. You are going to new place and will enjoy there. And weren’t the girls there supposed to be cute?

Finally tomorrow was the day. His flight was at 4 am. He had persuaded me not to come to drop him. I didn’t want to go too. I knew I would make a fool of myself. The only consolation was that we would get engaged in 3 months. After he came back. And 6 months later was the marriage. My parents seeing my distress spoke to his parents and they decided. Thank god for parents.

“Say you love me Pami” he said, kissing me and handing me the red rose I hated. “I love you” I said with tears in my eyes. God how much I had changed. I was a tomboy when we met and now was all mushy and girlie. “I will get you Nina Ricci and Davidoff Coolwater and something from Victoria Secret”, he said winking, trying to improve my mood. “And One Million by Paco Rabanne too”, I said feeling a bit better. “Keep this rose till I come back will you?” the romantic poet in him said softly. “I hate it”, I told him again. We just sat there holding hands. Communicating silently.

Next day when I woke at 7 am I saw his long sms. He loved to sms me poems of his own composition. Even though he knew I never read them. But this time I did. It was beautiful. How lucky I was.

Over the next 2 months we spoke twice everyday on the phone and whenever there was time overlap, which wasn’t much, we would chat over skype. I would take get up early to video chat with him, and he would hardly sleep. “This will be the last time I will go somewhere without you, Pami”, he said on the last day there. And I blushed. I loved him. He would be back in 2 days and then we would be together happily ever after. “I have kept the rose you gave me, even though I hate it.” I told him. “Get me a better flower when I come to receive you.” He laughed. “I will get you roses from America”, he said teasing me. “They are more beautiful”.

Next day I saw the news on TV. Air India flight 812 crashed while landing on the tiny airport. 4 hours drive from our house. Out of 166 people just 5 people survived. Tushar was not among the alive.

Couple of days later his luggage arrived. His cabin bag had a bunch of Roses. They were beautiful. I hated them even more.

……

“Shama, My life is yours”, he repeats still holding out the red rose.

It is beautiful. Tears roll down my cheeks. I accept it and smell it. I love Kunal for it.

I am not Pami anymore. I am Shama now.

It’s been a year since I have been Shama Singh.