Today, one of my oldest and dearest friends read through my blog and said she was proud of me. She said, reading my blog, she felt like I was talking to her through it. And not just talking, but sitting like we used to at the groto of our convent school, fiddling with the pockets of our brown skirts, drawing crosses with wax pebbles on the grotto shrine, and talking.
I was so thrilled, that I called her up, and we chatted up for a few good minutes. And just as my writing must have transported her back to the school days, her cold-loaded voice on the phone was sounding exactly as cute and chirpy as it used to in school!
Sometimes, we forget why we call our best friends our best friends. It’s not because we have common interests or we have done a lot for each other, or we get along well; its because we have created a treasure of memories with them. Memories we’d want to cherish for a lifetime.
A school-time best friend who always ‘got’ you as a kid, may not ‘get’ you very well as a grown up. But that doesn’t (shouldn’t) change your equation with him/ her. Nothing has changed. Except, you grew up. He/ she grew up. And grown ups are way more difficult to ‘get’ than kids.
By the way, today, somewhere miles away from my city, in my native place, when people open their newspapers, they see a photograph of me, and an article written around it. Here’s what I’m talking about!