Today, my best friend of the last 2 and 1/2 years, said adieu to my office. And in the midst of loads of work, crazy running around, directions flung left right and center, and mails flying to and from my Outlook, there is this silence in me that’s been weighing me down since the past 2 months, when she’d told me first that she’d finally found the offer she’d been looking for, and was going to put down her papers.
Today evening, as she sat in the chair next to me, as she’s been doing for almost every day in these past 2+ years, I just didn’t know what to say. The clock was ticking, time was running out, and I knew that soon, she’d be gone, never to sit in that chair again, never to be there for me when I come to office. And I filled the time with some inane talk, about some blogs I’d read, some carps about work and co-workers, and some general advice on what to do in her new company. All the time, I was worrying about my eyes betraying the truth: the vortex of emotions that I was actually going through inside.
I didn’t want to say it to her directly, because I knew she understood. Because that was the way she felt too. And saying it would be stating the obvious, and to me, an unnecessary way of expressing that which we knew in our hearts to be true.
But I want to say those unspoken words here, in my blog; to tell her how much she means to me, and to relive some of the moments which made our friendship special:
I still remember the first time I saw you – I was one week old in the company, had made some quick friends in my team and was settled just enough – you were this pretty girl that had just joined the team – wearing a blue and pink, horizontally striped top, full sleeved with all her hair bunched up in a black clip – I looked at you and thought – “must be an anglo” – cos you didn’t look South/North Indian. We met, and you said you were from Goa. And there it all began.
We were two people, from different cultures, different backgrounds, but almost identical in most of our thoughts. I would start to say something and before I’d even said half of it, I’d see your eyes telling me you understood, and your voice telling me how you knew. We’d sit on different floors, and think of calling/meeting each other at the same time. I’d call your phone and you would say “Lunch?” without even asking who it was on the other end. And many times we’d end up saying the same thing, at the same time – we were in sync 🙂
I remember the long walks after lunch, sometimes as an excuse to lose weight, and mostly to un-burden our minds on each other – we were after all, each others conscience-keepers. People would ask us – what is it that you people have so much to speak about – you’re always walking/sitting together, standing in the corridor, or sitting in the fire-exit talking. And we’d say: “and we still feel we don’t get enough time to talk :)”.
What haven’t we spoken about – our romantic fantasies, our dreams, crazy ideas, our families, work, co-workers, friends, our loneliness, helplessness, anger, fears, frustration, worries and the death of our dreams. Being each other’s psychological counsellor; sharing those tears that are privy to no one else.
People would tell us things and say “Don’t tell her about it okay”. The next time we’d meet, we’d laugh and say “you know..”. And joke about how anyone could think that we’d keep secrets from each other.
I remember the times we’ve been in each other’s homes, and the times we’ve gone out together and had fun. The impromptu trips to Domino’s Pizza from office (just when we felt like having a blast on our own), the parties, going to learn car-driving in Koramangala, hanging around Forum and of course, going to Hoganekkal. That was btw, the first time I really enjoyed travel. Sitting next to each other in the bus and enjoying the wind blowing on our face, sitting in the basket boats near the waterfalls, standing right under the waterfall, and getting choked and out of breath :), and lying, neck deep in the water around the crocodile bank. Two souls with not a care in the world… floating, wanting to be in the water forever…
I remember coming to your marriage in Goa this May, and having tears in my eyes, as I saw you in your perfect white dress, looking beautiful, standing at the altar, saying your vows. It was so romantic :), and I prayed that you’d live happily ever after.
Yes, I really wish for you to live happily ever after… and hope that even when you’re faced with the problems of the world, you find it in yourself to be strong, and come out of it.
Today, as your husband came to pick you up from office, I gave you a pat on your arm and said “When will we meet next? … I’ll come to your place next weekend”. You smiled and turned, and I went to catch the bus. You didn’t see the tears that I wiped from my cheeks, the tremble of my lips. I’m glad you didn’t, cos I always told you that we wouldn’t get emotional on the last day, as everyone was expecting us to get :). I put up a brave face and thought of writing all this, while I was coming home in the bus.
Of course, our friendship doesn’t end here. We’ll still be meeting, talking. And I’ll be there for you, whenever you need me, just like I know you will be there for me.
But, life won’t be the same ever again… We’ve shared some of the best times of our lives with each other, and all I can say is thank you. For being my friend. And for being there.