We were swinging on the big iron gate when he suddenly kept one foot on the ground and asked, 'should we get married when we grow up?'
He had said that exactly like how he would usually say, 'Should we get ice creams?'
I rubbed my nose against the string of rain drops on the iron grill and wondered what I should say.
We were about seven. He was in 2nd standard. Since I had started the school a year earlier, I was already in 3rd standard. Our families had known each other since ages. We were next door neighbours. Decades ago, my mother and her youngest older brother had played with his father and uncle.
I felt it was really silly of him to say something like that. But he was my best friend. So I sat down on the small parapet near the gate and explained to him the realities of life. I told him that this thing called marriage always followed a set of rules. And since he was younger to me by a few months, I couldn't marry him. He nodded thoughtfully and said he should then ask one of the girls in his class. I told him that it sounded like a good idea.
Our movies and literature usually romanticise the close friendship between a little boy and a little girl, but that is, so often, not the reality. Ok, saying that doesn't mean that I and my best friend didn't plan future together. We were going to be business partners. Our grandfathers might have dreamt of setting the conservative society free of the shackles of caste system; but our dreams were different. We were going to do something great and make tons of money. Often in our games, our clay models were sold for lakhs of rupees, our medical inventions saved the world ( Look Doctor, I accidentally mixed hibiscus with guava leaves and made cancer cure!.. Oh great! Now we are going to be rich!), our discoveries often made new chapters in geography text books (Captain, isn't that a new continent across the lane?... Oh great! Now we are going to be rich!) and our space research found new planets (Of course, we are going to be rich!).
Though we often played together all day during weekends and holidays, our school day routines were completely different. Around 8 in the morning, he would start polishing his shoes, looking for his tie, school badge and uniform and would be at the bus stop by 8.30, waiting for the school bus. He attended one of the best convent schools in the city. I, on the other hand ,would sometimes sleep in till 8.30, and would happily walk to school at 9.45. But in the evening, we would sit on the compound wall and discuss school. He would tell me about the nuns in his school, how he often pulled pranks on them, and I would tell him about the mysterious, abandoned, dilapidated house near my school.
His father was a budding politician. His family was rich. Though my parents had good jobs, I lived a very simple childhood. I was always aware of the difference in our lifestyles. His birthday parties were often the talk of the neighbourhood, the district collector's kids sometimes came over to hang out with him, and when his cousins came from Bangalore I often felt hesitant to go over to play as they always talked in English. But still, on holidays free of English speaking kids, he came over to play. During festivals we would pick fights with other kids in the neighbourhood (Perentha? perayka. Nadetha? Narenga..) and steal betel leaves and paan packets from the feast table.
But as we grew up, we drifted apart. There were no tear stained good byes when I was taken away from my grandfather's house. We had made other friends. He was a cricket freak. I was a book worm. Neither of us were into silly pretend games anymore. We had out grown them. We had outgrown each other too. And neither of us were sad.
Though we have met each other a few times later in life, our exchange of words were limited.(How's college, which year, how's work, where are you now..) Our lives had diverged like two branches of a river. He was educated in Chennai, Bangalore , UK and US. But he was the one who came back home to live there. He is running the family school now.
A few years ago I went back to Calicut to attend his wedding. I smiled to myself when I saw the betel leaves and paan packets on the feast table.
His, would be a story I would someday want to write. Rich boy, chasing one rich dream after another, coming back home to run an old city school (even if he is turning the place upside down to make it profitable. - I think that is just a phase). Dear friend, brother, I'm proud of you!
He had said that exactly like how he would usually say, 'Should we get ice creams?'
I rubbed my nose against the string of rain drops on the iron grill and wondered what I should say.
We were about seven. He was in 2nd standard. Since I had started the school a year earlier, I was already in 3rd standard. Our families had known each other since ages. We were next door neighbours. Decades ago, my mother and her youngest older brother had played with his father and uncle.
I felt it was really silly of him to say something like that. But he was my best friend. So I sat down on the small parapet near the gate and explained to him the realities of life. I told him that this thing called marriage always followed a set of rules. And since he was younger to me by a few months, I couldn't marry him. He nodded thoughtfully and said he should then ask one of the girls in his class. I told him that it sounded like a good idea.
Our movies and literature usually romanticise the close friendship between a little boy and a little girl, but that is, so often, not the reality. Ok, saying that doesn't mean that I and my best friend didn't plan future together. We were going to be business partners. Our grandfathers might have dreamt of setting the conservative society free of the shackles of caste system; but our dreams were different. We were going to do something great and make tons of money. Often in our games, our clay models were sold for lakhs of rupees, our medical inventions saved the world ( Look Doctor, I accidentally mixed hibiscus with guava leaves and made cancer cure!.. Oh great! Now we are going to be rich!), our discoveries often made new chapters in geography text books (Captain, isn't that a new continent across the lane?... Oh great! Now we are going to be rich!) and our space research found new planets (Of course, we are going to be rich!).
Though we often played together all day during weekends and holidays, our school day routines were completely different. Around 8 in the morning, he would start polishing his shoes, looking for his tie, school badge and uniform and would be at the bus stop by 8.30, waiting for the school bus. He attended one of the best convent schools in the city. I, on the other hand ,would sometimes sleep in till 8.30, and would happily walk to school at 9.45. But in the evening, we would sit on the compound wall and discuss school. He would tell me about the nuns in his school, how he often pulled pranks on them, and I would tell him about the mysterious, abandoned, dilapidated house near my school.
His father was a budding politician. His family was rich. Though my parents had good jobs, I lived a very simple childhood. I was always aware of the difference in our lifestyles. His birthday parties were often the talk of the neighbourhood, the district collector's kids sometimes came over to hang out with him, and when his cousins came from Bangalore I often felt hesitant to go over to play as they always talked in English. But still, on holidays free of English speaking kids, he came over to play. During festivals we would pick fights with other kids in the neighbourhood (Perentha? perayka. Nadetha? Narenga..) and steal betel leaves and paan packets from the feast table.
But as we grew up, we drifted apart. There were no tear stained good byes when I was taken away from my grandfather's house. We had made other friends. He was a cricket freak. I was a book worm. Neither of us were into silly pretend games anymore. We had out grown them. We had outgrown each other too. And neither of us were sad.
Though we have met each other a few times later in life, our exchange of words were limited.(How's college, which year, how's work, where are you now..) Our lives had diverged like two branches of a river. He was educated in Chennai, Bangalore , UK and US. But he was the one who came back home to live there. He is running the family school now.
A few years ago I went back to Calicut to attend his wedding. I smiled to myself when I saw the betel leaves and paan packets on the feast table.
His, would be a story I would someday want to write. Rich boy, chasing one rich dream after another, coming back home to run an old city school (even if he is turning the place upside down to make it profitable. - I think that is just a phase). Dear friend, brother, I'm proud of you!
