I first met her when I was four. I still remember the bright light brown eyes which looked back at my darker ones with the same curiosity. She was the one to initiate conversation. We exchanged names shyly, and then continued to survey the garden together. Leaves were checked for being loose, flowers were smelled, dead dragonflies and butterflies were buried in the garden. We went to different schools, I didn't realise that until much later. Since our schools started at 1, which required us to leave by 12:15, we had the mornings all to ourselves.
We once came across an uprooted plant which was not taller than 10 cms. It bothered us greatly, that should this plant die, we would be responsible. We dug a hole in the ground, planted it right back in. She even built a moat around it. The plant was checked ever morning, and it seemed to be doing fine. Until one day, we saw it carelessly thrown aside, its roots all exposed and pleading to be planted back.
We suspected the watchman, Shyam Bahadur, since we troubled him about the puppy business regularly. You see we had tiny puppies in the building garden who'd come frolicking to us everytime we went in the garden with a swing to play. Back then, I was a little scared of puppies, and she was mighty scared of puppies, so we ran up the slide. The puppies continued to loiter around leaving us stranded. So we screamed 'Shyam Bahadur, Shyam Bahadur' until the Nepali watchman came running to our rescue. My sense of humour hasn't changed much, since I'd say "Shyaam hui to Shyaam Bahadur aa gaye'. He carried us safely into the grassy garden where the puppies did not venture. This was kind of strange, when I think about it now, since there was no partition between the two gardens. So, like I was saying we suspected Shyam Bahadur. The plant was gently kissed by me and she started digging a hole again in the mud. This time we came across tiny white bubbles in the mud. Puzzled, she pressed it until a yellow liquid oozed out. We sat a little away from our new discovery wondering if we should taste the liquid on her finger. It was then we spotted a chamelon regarding us carefully from its perch on a tree nearby. Scared, we moved away some more. The chameleon then came down and started covering the hole we had dug. It was then I realised we had chanced upon chameleon eggs. It was not Shyam Bahadur but the chameleon who had uprooted our plant.
I loved reading, she loved dancing. It was quite a joke in my building that she'd start dancing in her chair itself if the music started. And she really did. Once on a Republic Day celebration, she sat in her chair and the music started playing. I watched her legs wiggle, head move in filmi style, and in no time she was dancing to Sri Devi's ChalBaaz hit, Naam mera prem kali. She taught me how to dance. Atleast she tried, I am still a lousy dancer, perhaps the lousiest you have met. I still believe I would make a fine ballet dancer though. She won all the races that day, the lemon and spoon race, the sack race, the frog race, and ofcourse the running race where you were supposed to run till one end, gobble up the biscuit there and run back. I cheered for her like mad, and she won two tennis racquets. Two, you got it right, the whole world knew that we were best friends. But maybe, she did not.
Sometimes when we'd play on the swings, we'd take turns pushing each other. Harder, I told her, I want to touch the sky. She said if she pushed harder, the swing might go around the pole. It was then she asked me who was my best friend. I remained quiet for a while. Sameera, I said. Ok, second best friend, she asked. Zara, I said. Ok third best, she persisted. Since we were so used to participating in building races on Republic ay & Independance day, we both knew any number beyond three held no value. She pushed the swing again. The swing completed two complete oscillations, now was my last chance. I said Bilawer, my cat's name. I knew she wanted me to say that she was my first best friend. But she was not only my first best friend, my second best friend and third best friend too. I didn't tell her that. I really don't know why I didn't. If there is one thing in my past I want to change, it is this.
We had a common saving box for having ice-creams. We too turns at buying expensive ice-cream. When she bought an expensive ice-cream, I had a cheaper one to compensate, and vice versa. When I had my first cornetto, she had a Solo. She asked me how the Cornetto tasted. I knew it was her way of asking me for a bite. I said it tasted good, without offering it to her. No, what exactly does it taste like, she asked. I said, however it tastes, its really good, not like anything I've had before. We finished eating our ice-creams in silence.
We continued being best friends, undeclared best friends. She'd always catch me first in Sakli so that we could hold hands and run. I always complained that her hands were too sweaty, and hence slippery. In Red Letter, she'd never take the letters in my name, so that I wouldn't have to move ahead and hence would not be caught. In Land & Water she quietly ignored my dashes between two pieces of chalk-marked land and caught the others instead. We played carrom sometimes at her house, we'd always be in the same team, she'd always compensate for my rash shots. We made jigsaw puzzles in summer afternoons, watched Mowgli on Sunday mornings. We danced on my birthday to Boney-M music and had cake. Just the two of us. We sat on the high wall sometimes and spoke about friends at school. We walked on the wall, and performed stunts on bamboos when the building was being repaired. We both wanted to be Nadia, the Russian girl they showed on TV.
That was until Urvi came along. She had moved in from Chembur into our building. She had new stories to say, and new games to play - the ones we played back in Chembur she said. I immediately felt insecure. I lived on a higher floor, they lived one below the other. They'd pass messages through their windows. She would hang a paper on a thread, Urvi would read it, grab the paper in, reply to the message and tug at the rope indicating that she could pull the paper up now. If you knew me, you'd know I can be very jealous. And I don't try too hard to get somebody, I just let them go. I thought she had found a new best friend, I did not want to see her anymore.
We gradually learned to get along. Urvi and me tried to keep things civil. In addition to the regular evening games, we indulged in throwball. A old net was drawn out of the building's pump room and tied akwardly between a tree and a pole (near our old plant). Money was contributed, a white Cosco Ball was bought. Urvi and me would never be in the same team, nor would Urvi let us be in the same team. So I was stuck up with Anita, a short girl who couldn't throw the ball across the net to save her life. Losing match after match made me suffer, but not as much as watching the two of them being in the same team, and winning. One summer day her brother threw a pebble on me, and I fought with him. Being ten years elder to me, fresh out of engineering and jobless when his brother had a job, he got out all his anger on the ball. He cut off all the stitches and removed the orange rubber from underneath.
I looked to her for support. It was her brother ruining our ball, I wanted her to stop him. Maybe she feared him a little, she did not say anything. I came crying home, and somehow parents got involved in the whole business. Her mother said I should not have given the ball in his hands at all. My mother said he was too grown up to do such things. We stopped talking, I don't understand why. My mother got me a new ball, my first own ball. But I had nobody I liked to play with anymore.
I indulged in the computer with a black and white screen and no mouse for solace. There were fun things to draw in LOGO and the gorilla game to play. Sakli, Langdi, Chippi, Bang Bang, Dabba Ice Spice were put behind too. Maybe she missed me. She called me down to play religiously every evening for over a year. Making fish faces through the vertical bars on the door and asking me if I'm coming down to play. She never liked the computer. It took her best friend away just as it took mine away. I never saw it coming, she did.
I think about her often. I speak to her sometimes. Not much, it must have been a year since I last spoke to her. Her voice startled me then, it sounded all grown up. I cried holding my pillow after I came home.
I want to tell her, that summer as we played on the swing, when she asked me who my best friend was, it was nobody but her. I want to tell her I saved for a whole month to buy her a first Cornetto. I want to tell her tilgul-laddoos remind me of her. I want to tell her that my childhood memories are like albums with her pictures in them. I want to tell her I have had no other friend who feeds sugar grains to ants. Maybe its too late. Maybe we have missed out so much through these ten years that we can never catch up. My best friend now tells me to make peace with her before I leave, he wants me to tell her everything, confess all the unsaid things, tell her how much she matters to me.
***
I don't know if I will be able to do this, but I request all my readers, to make their peace before they leave. Don't leave the demons behind, don't let them haunt you forever.
