Death of a friend

It hurts when you have to say good-bye to someone very dear to you. A very senior colleague of mine today had been for the 10^th day prayers of her friend. She came back from the function and couldn’t stop the steady stream of water flowing from her eyes as I held on to her soft, wizening hand. She talked to fondly about her friend, about how humble he was and how good he was to people, so much so that I developed this strange urge, wishing I had met him at least once before he had departed.

Sometimes the world is like that.

My colleague said something, which is a matter of fact but struck me as strange. “All my friends are old are dying one by one,” she said. This reminded me of a story that I read in some children’s magazine and had adapted and re-adapted it to suit my story-telling. Three best buddies- a tomato, an onion and an ice-candy are inseparable. They live together, sleep together, go to school together and play together. One monsoon day, they decided to go for a movie. They were bumping down the street even as it poured, more excited than the three best buddies.

But from nowhere, came the sun, beaming bright, scorching light. The ice-candy started sweating. It started feeling nauseous and soon collapsed and melted away into the BRIMSTOWAD, much to the dismay of his friends.

His friends wept and they wept in the rain. It was good it was raining, so people couldn’t see them crying.

Since they had already set out for the movie, they planned to continue with their plan and proceeded to the theatre. In the pitch-black darkness, a man sat on the very seat that tomato had occupied, squashing him into Kissan Tomato Ketchup.

The onion cried and he cried. He went outside the theatre and he cried and he cried.

Then it suddenly struck him. He thought, “The tomato and I cried when the lolly died. I cried when the tomato died. Who would cry when I were to die too?”

The thought suddenly made him feel very lonely. He wept even more.

A sage who was passing by saw his pitiable state.

Crying “Alakh niranjan” he ruffled the hair on the onion’s head and asked him the reason for his sadness.

The sage smiled at him and said, “Is that all? Henceforth, whoever brings the knife to you, will shed tears!”

I remember Richard’s death in 2004, a few months after we had all grabbed admission in an Ambarnath college. It was during the exams. I remember, the next exam was Hindi and all the poems in the textbook read as if mourners had penned them. I still cannot help feeling a pang of guilt as I pass his house everyday. The pain has ceased to be a dull ache now. A guilty, dull ache. I still remember how inconsolable his father had been after he had been buried in the Fatima Church cemetery. Some gave him toy guitars, others wreaths. I had said I would be back to say hi to him. I never went back. Somehow I cannot bring myself to go to the graveyard again, without feeling nauseous and spooky about it.

Recently realisation struck me. People who had been friends, thick buddies till a little while ago are mere chat friends now, who say hi and howz u and wassup. Lots of friends, no money. Now- money, money and no friends.

Friends? Hmph. Who? What? Where?