Five years ago, I sat crouched at my table, braiding 'friendship bands' out of colourful yarn. I had my calculations all clear in my head, yarn bands for my best friends and strips of ribbon for the others. It'd worked out perfectly well the next day as I exchanged bands at school. I'd counted the amount of bands I had on my wrists and prided in the fact that so many people thought of me as a friend. Cut to present-cynicism and the search for meaning and significance made these bands insignificant. The next 4 years after school, friendship day remained just another Sunday in August until a friend revived the tradition with gifts instead of bands.
It was then that realization showered upon me, like the sudden showers of Bombay (yes, I'd still prefer Bombay over Mumbai); it's not the bands but the people whose friendship stays with you like the stubborn knot in every band. A yarn band, a ribbon or a thoughtful gesture would serve just as well.
It was then that realization showered upon me, like the sudden showers of Bombay (yes, I'd still prefer Bombay over Mumbai); it's not the bands but the people whose friendship stays with you like the stubborn knot in every band. A yarn band, a ribbon or a thoughtful gesture would serve just as well.
When people matter, you hunt for a new copy of book of theirs that you misplaced or accidentally ruined. Then you personalize with a hand-written note and hand-deliver it to them at 8:30 am. You share embarrassing secrets over a massive lunch and glorious amounts of 'beverages'. A lunch that makes you not want to leave the comfort of the warmth in your chair that your butt has created. When you thank the heavens to have blessed you with that one friend; one who knows you like the palms of her hand because she's smacked you for each stupid thing you've done.You take all the possible detours to spend as much time with them as you can, talking, losing your way and finding it all over again. You run back home to meet the precious idiots you grew up with. hug each one of them and wish them a 'Happy Friendship Day.' You're glad you grew up with them because they can hear the rumble in your stomach before you can even say it out loud that you need food. When people matter, a humble plate of bhurji-paav at 10 in the night, seasoned with the weather's choicest drizzles feels no less than a feast. A stomach and a heart warmed by food and warmed by love.
P.S: Once in a while I tend to order extra cheese on my pizza and my feelings.
P.S: Once in a while I tend to order extra cheese on my pizza and my feelings.
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