What Friendship taught me

This is a story about friends and friendship. I always believed in the cliché that “its chance that makes families but hearts that makes friends”. My life has more or less vindicated this truism. As I enter the labyrinth of my memories and sift for stories on true friends, a few prominently stand out. This is the story of those few. If you draw inferences on the strength of my character as you read the story, I may warn you, the inference is purely yours. The stories and characters depicted including mine may be purely fictional and any resemblance you may recall is, I must say, is coincidental.

 

The story begins with my eternal quest for my soul mate. The fact that the quest began at a very early stage in my life should not lead you to believe that the search was farcical. I was always dead serious about the girls who came into my life.

 

Ramu, the lizard, was in fact was my earliest best friend. I call him lizard, because he looked like one. Our friendship actually transcended the mundane and stretched way beyond and in fact reached out to his elder sister Meena. Meena was just two years elder to Ramu and looked like Goddess Lakshmi. I know you will say how I know goddess Lakshmi. We then had a calendar at home with the goddess painted by a famous artist. Ramu and I spent a lot of time together, doing our homework (at his place), sharing snacks (his mom was a splendid cook), and reading comics (his father bought him phantom and riche rich). He used to buy me candies (Ramu was the lucky few in our class to be given pocket money) and even lend me small change.

 

You would have quickly perceived the nature of friendship between the lizard and me. The time spent with him gave me a lot of opportunity to interact with the lizard’s sister. I could write stories on the goddess, but suffice it to say that I was truly enamored of the goddess. She became my first soul mate. The lizard, like all you perceptive guys, soon got the wind of my awe and reverence for the goddess. I am sure that had she not been his sister, he would have joined me in goddess worship. However, to cut a long story short, the lizard did not like the way I looked and thought about Lakshmi...Oops...Meena. Cunning as he was, he cut me off from his pocket money, would rarely invite me to his home (my temple), and even became friends with my worst enemy (ram the cobra), thus blowing the final whistle on our friendship. So much for our transcendental friendship.

 

The years of penance must have been really long, for my next story begins which I was in class nine. This was a new place, new school and unfamiliar climes. I really don’t know when and how it happened. I saw the goddess again. Of course not the same of my childhood, but a larger, better version- in the form of Leena (all names have been changed to protect the identity of the character). This goddess had a scar on her face, her complexion golden wheat, demeanor coy, looks killing and smile divine. Come to think of it, this girl was more likely the object of the artist’s painting on the calendar.

 

Let me now dispel your doubts about my personality. I was not what you think I am. Meaning, if you think I was good-looking, tall, hulk, handsome- imagine the opposite to figure me. All I had (still have) is a fairly large mound of Venus (if you know where it is located. If you don’t I suggest you read Cheiro). This girl of my class drew a virtual horde of worshippers to her. I was, I must confess, one of the lesser mortals, but mind you, my ways were much more innovative than the rest of the pack. Whilst the devotees were plotting and planning, I hit upon a brilliant idea.

 

I will now have to introduce you to my second best friend. For want of proper epithet, let me just say he is cheeka. His dwarfish height should not be mistaken, for he never let his height reduce the size of his spirit. We became friends after a nasty fisticuff, which resulted in a nice swelling on his forehead and split lips for me. He was the tiger (that’s why I call him cheeka) and I was a chicken till we clashed. After the fisticuff I gained recognition as a cub, and won the tiger’s friendship. Cheeka’s reputation, if you need to know, can be loosely equated to that of an underworld don. He was one person whom everyone wanted to be on his side. If I were even today given a choice between a hundred thugs and cheeka, I would choose the latter (now, now, don’t draw comparisons with the Mahabharata).

 

Before I return to the fable of Leena (have patience), let me tell you that cheeka taught me the wisdom of a hundred lives. He taught me that fear of local goons (toughies in and around our locality) was more in my mind than real. He initiated me into the joys of bunking, the pleasures of smoking (drawing smoke from a hollow reed) and literature (Confidential Advisor and Mast Ram). For this alone, and despite what he did to me, I shall ever be indebted.

 

Returning to the fable, my search for a soul mate seemed to culminate in Leena. But how would I know whether the goddess would bless me? During class time, I would cast backward, sideways and sly glances at the goddess. I even suffered a sprain in my neck once. Every time I managed to make some eye contact, my confidence would grow. Fed on stories of Robin Hood, King Arthur and other knights, I was determined to win my maiden from competition. I began honing my skills. In studies, I did exceptionally well. In sports, I threw in all my energy to be ahead of others. I won record number of cups and medals. My teachers would praise me no end. I was the best boy in school (officially). Combine this brilliance with street smartness gained from Cheeka, and you will agree with me that I had the most potent weapon to outsmart other worshippers.

 

My choice of cheeka as the messenger could not be faulted, though, by the wisdom of hindsight, it was a bad one. I wrote my heart out in the letters I sent to Leena through cheeka. He would faithfully speed to her house on his bicycle and deliver the messages. Cheeka, you must know this, was everyone’s pet (including girls). Nobody took him as a threat when it involved the fairer sex. He would tell me how the goddess read my letters and repeat her oral responses to me. I was completely unarmed and undone by her emotional response.

 

The day of reckoning, however, was not far. On the doomsday, I met my goddess at the theatre. I was there with a couple of other friends (bunked from the class). We had paid sixty-six paisa apiece to be part of the frontbenchers. The movie was the saga of friendship between an elephant and a star. At intermission, we went to the snack bar and what do you think I saw there? The tiger with the goddess. When we all saw each other, the goddess just smiled (a bit embarrassed), but the tiger looked positively sheepish.

 

An explanation was definitely on the cards. The tiger tried his best to convince me that the goddess was in love with him! My letters? Her emotional response? Tiger had copied my sentiments under his signatures. Her responses as narrated by cheeka were true but directed to him and not me.

 

Thus ended our relationship-I mean cheeka and me. But as I told you, I am yet indebted to him for what he taught me.

 

My search for a soul mate however, did not end with Leena. Long bitter years did intervene between Leena and Renu. Renu entered into the darkness of my life and I could see it lighting up. Years might have gone by, but the picture of Lakshmi in the calendar remains etched in my soul. Renu brought with her the wisdom of maturity. If you haven’t guessed, she was married. I myself had become wise enough, grown over the lizard and tiger stages of life.

 

Before I get you engaged in the fable of Renu the mature, I would like you to meet Hagar, the horrible. Don’t ask me why I call Ashok, Hagar. He is my third best friend. He smoked rolled cigarettes, spoke only English, and carried around him the aura of a brilliant professor. My association with him grew in strength on heavy discussions on philosophy, psychology and religion. Don’t ask me why and how I got drawn into these subjects. It’s another story. Hagar fascinated me with his deep insights into human behavior. He unfolded his life’s story and I couldn’t help getting drawn into his life.

 

Around the same time, Renu entered my dark and disturbed life. Unlike my earlier models of Lakshmi, Renu was neither finely chiseled nor could be called beautiful. But she had the sensuality of the calendar picture that I discovered, were not evident in the earlier avatars. I was (I say this to clarify my position) not drawn to her. It was the other way round. I don’t mind telling you all about Renu, but lest I get carried away and allow you to stray from my main story (about friends and friendship), I shall refrain from details.

 

I soon discovered that Renu’s attraction and affection for me was sexual in nature. Confronted with this truth, I began to examine my own morality and ethical values. My examination led to a mind-boggling range of possible results, none of which I shall share with you. I could finally conclude that I carry a baggage of very fragile values, many of which were really liquid and could evaporate rapidly when opened. A confrontation of epic proportions was building in me and I needed help to resolve issues. Hagar, the horrible, was my only choice.

 

My relationship with the goddess was tentative, suspicious, and fearful and yet getting stronger as days passed. The adjectives used above are indicative of my approach to the relationship; the goddess had no such concerns. I would grope for help and clutched at Hagar for support. Without revealing too many details, I would propose situational models to him for his comments. Hagar was not the one to be fooled. Without allowing me to know that he knew, Hagar would pose the postulates, coax me to draw my inferences and slyly, got into my mind’s labyrinthine recesses. He could read my desires. He could sense my fears. He could, with ease of a psychoanalyst, make me tear myself apart. In short, he would say nothing. He merely added to my already chaotic thought process.

 

There was, of course, no need for me to undergo so much of pain and suffering. The goddess proposed a very simple model of relationship. She wanted me and I could have all of her. The very simplicity of the proposition shook my foundations. She attached absolutely no strings, and there were no hidden clauses that could be read. Goddess, as she was, she could read my infantile thoughts. She ran a campaign, very much like the ones you see on 24 hr shopping network on the TV. The product was explained with vivid description of its parts, the functions it can perform, the guarantees of satisfaction it carried, and so on and so forth.

 

Meanwhile, my friend carried his own campaign. I was sufficiently aware of his family background, and knew his opinions on the female sex (frequently, he would tell me about cobra and vipers to illustrate his point of view). But why he would be a misogynist, I could not fathom (he did tell me that his mother and sister played some role in this). What appalled me was his vicious fascination for me. He would constantly berate me for being a sucker for freebees, would explain the consequential cost of biting the bait. At times, convinced by his logic, I would thank him for his sincere counseling. At other times, I would leave him disgusted.

 

Then, one day, my dream house came down with a shattering explosion. The diva of my dreams stopped meeting me. I could gather there was some reason behind this. Hagar, the horrible, smiled mysteriously and told me that the bitch would no more trouble me. He had solved my problem. The bitch…oops…goddess would not allow me to access her. Finally, with the perseverance of a terrier, I reached her and demanded to know. She looked at me the same way as one would look at a pig trying to get close. Without wasting words or emotions, she told me to go back to Hagar. She had nothing to do with homosexuals.

 

Now you can understand why I call my friend Hagar, the horrible.

 To be fair to all my friends, I must say that I still appreciate what they did to me. In their own way friends taught me some essential lessons in my life. If you are in love with your best friend’s sister, never let him know. Directly communicate with your beloved and never let your best friend (however ugly he may look to you) carry your emotions. More, importantly, never allow your best friend to decide for you. Take your own decisions, right or wrong.

 

Years after my marriage, my wife would still remind me how cunning I was. We would talk about the monkey (my fourth best friend). He still calls up my wife and warns her to be careful. He still loves her and feels I cheated him to snatch her away. That brings me to the most important lesson learnt- learn your earlier lessons well and use it to better your life. Those who don’t, become monkeys.

 

Jokes apart, my quest for a soul mate ended happily thanks to my friends. Or has it really? The picture of the goddess on the calendar still remains etched.