It's weird, the things you do when you're small.
Seventh grade was by far the strangest grade I've ever been in. From holding the blade of the fan and swinging from it, to singing weird songs in front of the teachers and being called "abnormal" and "under observation". Many left after seventh, in more ways than just feet walking away from the gates of the school.
The best part was that things were very different then from what they are now. Now that it is your birthday, going back and remembering all of it has been not only amazing but relieving, because nothing can be called "concrete evidence" if not a whole year. Evidence that a good, carefree time can exist.
I wasn't very close to you. Different rows, different groups which came together in the end. It was perhaps that chubby Narmada house chick who brought us together. Well, she and her uncanny obsession with Baby Lips which she passed on like an infection to us.
We both had the purple one, which I hardly used. Most of my lip balm was spent falling off on the floor. But that's exactly how we connected. It's as of owning the same shade of balm was an insignia of a clique or something, and we left no chance to make the other feel miserable about her mango flavoured one. Exceptionally mean, yes. But so much fun.
Then bumping into you at New Year's. Introducing you to that strange, insane group of ours. All the calls that followed after, asking for advice at weird hours. Making that flop waterfall which went wrong on so many levels. Consoling me after Poppy ran away. Suddenly turning to me and Trina while we were watching the much awaited Catching Fire and saying "I have no idea what's going on here."
You're probably the first friend I've had who defines "misunderstanding" in my life. But here's the thing: When I look back on all the fun things that have happened to me, somehow the misunderstandings worm their way in. Perhaps standing against the wall outside Pradeep sir's office as that teacher hammered apparent morals and ethics into us was sort of fun. We kept giving each other hilarious looks from the corner of our eyes, and left glowering.
You love and trust a bit too easily. When you start loving someone, it's as if you've loved them since childhood or something. You'd be a bad gambler. You place everything you have on a number that's been good and lucky for you all the time so far, and then the dice decides to roll somewhere else. Your number betrays you. It's got nothing to lose. Neither do you. Come now. Maa-Baap nahi hote toh we are all gareeb anyway. You actually lose nothing. Except your sanity. Pretty much.
But the mere idea and memory that you've lost something kills you, and you fall into a stupor hard to rise from. Fortunately, you have good friends. Make that amazing.
Holding grudges against each other was awesome. The fight, even though made us both sad, was fun.
Look. I am a very confused, deranged, pathetic person. I love what average, normal people cry about. So let's just, I don't know. Agree to disagree. (?)
The fact that you stand up for people no matter what they do, and are ready to forget a fight because you know we won't care about it five years from now was something that I admired a lot. I never told you.
Keep drawing. That art of yours is inspiring. Keep sending me drawings. Keep being anorexic. Keep those huge eyes because mine are the same. (Larger. Brb, crying. ). Please don't do that Japan thing again. It was a momentary shock. I even had your farewell card planned.
I was about to compare our friendship to Baby Lip's petroleum jelly pole. The one that lasts for a long, long time and occasionally sees downfalls when morons like me drop it SPLAT! on the floor.
But then dirty mind. <sigh>
I'm pretty sure I just ruined everything by adding that one line.
No, I don't regret it.
Happy Birthday, Anika. Yes, this is late. Very late. Because I logged in to write this, forgot as soon as I entered the password, stared at the screen with a scrunched up eye wondering why I logged in, wrote some random musing and logged out. I'm sorry.
Thank you for being a part of some of my favourite moments in life.
I'm pretty sure Peyton will find her Lucas. Someday.
Oh. How I hate that show.
Love,
Khushi.
Seventh grade was by far the strangest grade I've ever been in. From holding the blade of the fan and swinging from it, to singing weird songs in front of the teachers and being called "abnormal" and "under observation". Many left after seventh, in more ways than just feet walking away from the gates of the school.
The best part was that things were very different then from what they are now. Now that it is your birthday, going back and remembering all of it has been not only amazing but relieving, because nothing can be called "concrete evidence" if not a whole year. Evidence that a good, carefree time can exist.
I wasn't very close to you. Different rows, different groups which came together in the end. It was perhaps that chubby Narmada house chick who brought us together. Well, she and her uncanny obsession with Baby Lips which she passed on like an infection to us.
We both had the purple one, which I hardly used. Most of my lip balm was spent falling off on the floor. But that's exactly how we connected. It's as of owning the same shade of balm was an insignia of a clique or something, and we left no chance to make the other feel miserable about her mango flavoured one. Exceptionally mean, yes. But so much fun.
Then bumping into you at New Year's. Introducing you to that strange, insane group of ours. All the calls that followed after, asking for advice at weird hours. Making that flop waterfall which went wrong on so many levels. Consoling me after Poppy ran away. Suddenly turning to me and Trina while we were watching the much awaited Catching Fire and saying "I have no idea what's going on here."
You're probably the first friend I've had who defines "misunderstanding" in my life. But here's the thing: When I look back on all the fun things that have happened to me, somehow the misunderstandings worm their way in. Perhaps standing against the wall outside Pradeep sir's office as that teacher hammered apparent morals and ethics into us was sort of fun. We kept giving each other hilarious looks from the corner of our eyes, and left glowering.
You love and trust a bit too easily. When you start loving someone, it's as if you've loved them since childhood or something. You'd be a bad gambler. You place everything you have on a number that's been good and lucky for you all the time so far, and then the dice decides to roll somewhere else. Your number betrays you. It's got nothing to lose. Neither do you. Come now. Maa-Baap nahi hote toh we are all gareeb anyway. You actually lose nothing. Except your sanity. Pretty much.
But the mere idea and memory that you've lost something kills you, and you fall into a stupor hard to rise from. Fortunately, you have good friends. Make that amazing.
Holding grudges against each other was awesome. The fight, even though made us both sad, was fun.
Look. I am a very confused, deranged, pathetic person. I love what average, normal people cry about. So let's just, I don't know. Agree to disagree. (?)
The fact that you stand up for people no matter what they do, and are ready to forget a fight because you know we won't care about it five years from now was something that I admired a lot. I never told you.
Keep drawing. That art of yours is inspiring. Keep sending me drawings. Keep being anorexic. Keep those huge eyes because mine are the same. (Larger. Brb, crying. ). Please don't do that Japan thing again. It was a momentary shock. I even had your farewell card planned.
I was about to compare our friendship to Baby Lip's petroleum jelly pole. The one that lasts for a long, long time and occasionally sees downfalls when morons like me drop it SPLAT! on the floor.
But then dirty mind. <sigh>
I'm pretty sure I just ruined everything by adding that one line.
No, I don't regret it.
Happy Birthday, Anika. Yes, this is late. Very late. Because I logged in to write this, forgot as soon as I entered the password, stared at the screen with a scrunched up eye wondering why I logged in, wrote some random musing and logged out. I'm sorry.
Thank you for being a part of some of my favourite moments in life.
I'm pretty sure Peyton will find her Lucas. Someday.
Oh. How I hate that show.
Love,
Khushi.
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