I remembered those innocent and happy days when we talked about how our lives would be after some years. We were hopeful and ambitious. We almost planned to make our lives cheerful. We moved apart with the hope of becoming someone we had dreamed of. We also planned to travel and meet each other during our summer and winter breaks, or get together if we spent the vacation at home.
Those couple of months, after our secondary examination and before the declaration of results, were the periods when we spent time together almost every day. In the evening, he would come to pick me up in his black Honda Activa. I still remember him speeding his bike from our front gate, wearing his usual black Adidas tracksuit with white strips on each side, a spectacle on his fair and wide, not smooth, face. Every time, he was concerned about curing his pimples.
We used to play with him by removing his glass. He would try to open his eyes wide open, hold the objects near his eyes, and try to see them clearly, which he never could. Imagine how a myopic person with diopters above minus five-six would react without his glass. We really made some good memories out of it, although he never liked it.
Those days were the time when Babu Hotel at Khurai was so popular and the food items that we got for 100 bucks were more than enough for two people. And it was delicious, too. We never had overpriced restaurants like we now have.
There was a South Indian hotel that was famous for samosas. It was our frequently visited place for evening tea and snacks. One day, while we were sitting inside of it, he got mad at the hotel owner, although I came to know about it when he told me on our way back home. Actually, the owner had addressed him as “Taamo ” (a respectful gesture for calling an older person) when he was still younger than me and was only 18.
Almost every evening, we used to drive across the river, on that small wooden bridge. Sometimes we would stop and watch over the two-story white building that he frequently asked me to. He was happy and excited to tell me that she used to come up on the terrace to sun dry their clothes. Sometimes he was scared enough to even drive across the river. Later, he would tell me the man standing on the other side, in front of her house, was her brother. But he never stopped to take me with him and drove past the bridge every evening.
But the cruel world and its creator were so jealous of our life down here, a life without sorrow and hatred but only happiness. We were moving so fast, creating happy memories day by day. Until our lives started to crumble and cripple. We hadn’t completed our one year away from home when he missed his first semester exam. He had already taken his leave and left the college. It started to break us apart slowly. And when it did so, it got worse and never gave it a chance to recover.
There was no WhatsApp during those days, to chat every minute and to share pictures. I remember one day when he asked me to share my pictures through MMS. It charges us around three rupees per message. One of my pictures got so much attention from him. I was sitting on a tree branch, which I thought was great. And now I realize it was not. He laughed out loud after some long days. And I was happy to hear his laugh on the phone call. But my mood changed in a blink when I saw a picture of him. He had trimmed his hair very short. And I still regretted for what I asked him,
“Has it started to fall?”
I didn’t know he had become so mature during those days. He laughed and replied,
“No, it hasn’t. Don’t worry about it. It will be fine.”
But not very long after that day, our connection was lost. Yes, I do hear about him from others, back from home from my mom, who was his paternal aunt. But not his voice; it was never heard. And the moments that we spent at home during those memorable months, before we were separated, were the best memories of him. He was more of my best friend than a brother.
I am wishing you a very happy birthday today, on the 6th of December. Everyone still misses you.
My Pure Hand 