Childhood friend. What does that mean??
In a cinema style it would mean a girl and boy being neighbours as kids, liking each other only to get separated and find each other a decade later by means for a song or a watch or something, falling in love and getting married, and the hardships they face in the process.
In reality there are very few of us who have a friend whom we can call as a childhood friend. In the day and age of Facebook, it isn't hard to find an old friend but is sharing pictures and seeing the pages they like, what a childhood friendship is about.
No.
It is much more.
It is about all the unspoken words. It is about the thoughts you share. It is about knowing that your friend is there no matter what.
It is about being apart for years but connecting the instant you meet again. Sometimes not even meeting but still connecting through a simple mail. It is about not having to catch up.
It isn't about long phone calls and endless chats. It is about knowing that any time you want to talk, they are there. Time is irrelevant.
It is about who you think of first to share your joy and sorrow. Especially your sorrow.
It isn't about coffees, lunches or dinners or even wishing them on their birthday. It is about your saddest moments, your deepest feelings, your inexplicable thoughts. They are always beside you. With you.
Close your eyes and they are there. Understanding you even though they are miles away.
So what's our story?
My mother was pregnant with my sister (another post will talk about the sorrows and joys (?) of having a younger sister) and so we had come down to India for a few months.
Arun's family lived in the house above.
My first memories of him is the picture you see above. I think I remembered the hot pink skirt more than I remembered him, but oh well, he still fit somewhere in the memory.
After we went back to the UK we completely lost touch, though his name and his family was mentioned occasionally at home.
Years passed by, and one summer holiday, when all of us had gathered at my grandma's place for a holiday, the mamas decided that keeping these children at home was driving everyone crazy and so we went for a one day trip. On the way we passed through Palakad and stopped at Arun's house. When we entered the house, we were welcomed with hot food and the beautiful sounds of the veena. Arun was having veena class. Respect grew. We spent hardly an hour at his place and I didn't get to talk much to him. Little hard when you are surrounded by a dozen or more people.
A few years later he came to Bangalore and that is when we actually got a chance to speak properly.
Since then we've been constantly in touch. Emails, phone calls. Even when with him sitting all the way in Sweden.
Today, more than 20 years of knowing him, I can 'classify' him as a childhood friend.
Dear Arun. This is for you.
I am blessed to have you in my life.
Always have been. Always will be.
In a cinema style it would mean a girl and boy being neighbours as kids, liking each other only to get separated and find each other a decade later by means for a song or a watch or something, falling in love and getting married, and the hardships they face in the process.
In reality there are very few of us who have a friend whom we can call as a childhood friend. In the day and age of Facebook, it isn't hard to find an old friend but is sharing pictures and seeing the pages they like, what a childhood friendship is about.
No.
It is much more.
It is about all the unspoken words. It is about the thoughts you share. It is about knowing that your friend is there no matter what.
It is about being apart for years but connecting the instant you meet again. Sometimes not even meeting but still connecting through a simple mail. It is about not having to catch up.
It isn't about long phone calls and endless chats. It is about knowing that any time you want to talk, they are there. Time is irrelevant.
It is about who you think of first to share your joy and sorrow. Especially your sorrow.
It isn't about coffees, lunches or dinners or even wishing them on their birthday. It is about your saddest moments, your deepest feelings, your inexplicable thoughts. They are always beside you. With you.
Close your eyes and they are there. Understanding you even though they are miles away.
So what's our story?
My mother was pregnant with my sister (another post will talk about the sorrows and joys (?) of having a younger sister) and so we had come down to India for a few months.
Arun's family lived in the house above.
My first memories of him is the picture you see above. I think I remembered the hot pink skirt more than I remembered him, but oh well, he still fit somewhere in the memory.
After we went back to the UK we completely lost touch, though his name and his family was mentioned occasionally at home.
Years passed by, and one summer holiday, when all of us had gathered at my grandma's place for a holiday, the mamas decided that keeping these children at home was driving everyone crazy and so we went for a one day trip. On the way we passed through Palakad and stopped at Arun's house. When we entered the house, we were welcomed with hot food and the beautiful sounds of the veena. Arun was having veena class. Respect grew. We spent hardly an hour at his place and I didn't get to talk much to him. Little hard when you are surrounded by a dozen or more people.
A few years later he came to Bangalore and that is when we actually got a chance to speak properly.
Since then we've been constantly in touch. Emails, phone calls. Even when with him sitting all the way in Sweden.
Today, more than 20 years of knowing him, I can 'classify' him as a childhood friend.
Dear Arun. This is for you.
I am blessed to have you in my life.
Always have been. Always will be.
Krupa
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