I still remember the Xmas tree. It was something awe-inspiring for me as a 7-8 year old then. Presently, I closed my eyes shut for a moment when she told me that the tree almost touched the skies and then they had to fell it. The sapling had grown deep roots in my mind. I opened my eyes and she smiled a sad smile at me. I smiled too.
We were friends when we were girls merely aged 8. Now we were women of 24. I was seeing her after almost 15 years. This was simply absurd!
Her family had bought a big new house. They had invited all the kids to their new place then. She had asked me to come too. When the crowd had finally said their goodbyes, she had taken me to see the small Xmas tree. We had giggled, tenderly touched the sapling and later I had told almost everyone I knew about her new Xmas tree. Now the big house lay buried in our memories and the sapling remained only a sapling. Some financial tragedy and treacherous people had forced her family to sell the house. The new occupants did not want that Xmas tree in their courtyard. Instead of them slashing it down carelessly, my friend had requested that the tree be fallen in front of her own eyes.
Over a cup of coffee, here we were, after all these years of silence talking about the old family house. She was the first person in my life who had probably understood me and loved me for what I was. I realized it here, after so many years. She confirmed my hazy thought by saying that she had visited the place where I had then stayed; many times after I left this village without even meeting her. She had searched for me on the Internet, I had been on her mind, and her wish was finally fulfilled. She found me and bigger surprise was that both of us were in the same city presently. Only when her wish was fulfilled did I realize that it meant so much for me too.
Over the years I had believed that I had changed; become a different person. But I guess I was wrong about myself. I was this fragile looking dewy eyed kid then. I was this kid who loved to wander in the orchards alone. A lonely pup or a wandering butterfly would be the only company I welcomed. “Nothing has changed with me”, I heard myself telling her. Only when I had pronounced this aloud did I realize that nothing had changed actually.
I remembered her cycling up and down the clay road almost everyday. She used to look like a two year old would look wearing his Dad’s huge shoes, her small athletic body on her oversized bicycle. With ease she would ride her cycle to my place and ask me to hop on her bike, so she could take me with her. I would then curtly nod a no and refuse to go with her. Every day she would try to convince me to go with her. While she would enjoy playing rough games and most times would manage to win even against the boys, I would never once attempt to play any game where I was required to be a part of any big gang.
Now we were laughing till tears spilled over the rims of our eyes. I was really fond of this English teacher of ours then, and I used to take a flower for her sometimes, with the hope that she would warm her ever chilly behavior a little towards me. This teacher had failed to look deep in my eyes; her glance had some myopic sight which only liked to look at my good enough scores in her language paper. On such occasions my friend had teased me, bullied me, snatched the flower from me and raced with it to my favourite teacher. I never chased her, never tried to reach her. She sped like the wind, gleefully. I just stood there.
We were friends when we were girls merely aged 8. Now we were women of 24. I was seeing her after almost 15 years. This was simply absurd!
Her family had bought a big new house. They had invited all the kids to their new place then. She had asked me to come too. When the crowd had finally said their goodbyes, she had taken me to see the small Xmas tree. We had giggled, tenderly touched the sapling and later I had told almost everyone I knew about her new Xmas tree. Now the big house lay buried in our memories and the sapling remained only a sapling. Some financial tragedy and treacherous people had forced her family to sell the house. The new occupants did not want that Xmas tree in their courtyard. Instead of them slashing it down carelessly, my friend had requested that the tree be fallen in front of her own eyes.
Over a cup of coffee, here we were, after all these years of silence talking about the old family house. She was the first person in my life who had probably understood me and loved me for what I was. I realized it here, after so many years. She confirmed my hazy thought by saying that she had visited the place where I had then stayed; many times after I left this village without even meeting her. She had searched for me on the Internet, I had been on her mind, and her wish was finally fulfilled. She found me and bigger surprise was that both of us were in the same city presently. Only when her wish was fulfilled did I realize that it meant so much for me too.
Over the years I had believed that I had changed; become a different person. But I guess I was wrong about myself. I was this fragile looking dewy eyed kid then. I was this kid who loved to wander in the orchards alone. A lonely pup or a wandering butterfly would be the only company I welcomed. “Nothing has changed with me”, I heard myself telling her. Only when I had pronounced this aloud did I realize that nothing had changed actually.
I remembered her cycling up and down the clay road almost everyday. She used to look like a two year old would look wearing his Dad’s huge shoes, her small athletic body on her oversized bicycle. With ease she would ride her cycle to my place and ask me to hop on her bike, so she could take me with her. I would then curtly nod a no and refuse to go with her. Every day she would try to convince me to go with her. While she would enjoy playing rough games and most times would manage to win even against the boys, I would never once attempt to play any game where I was required to be a part of any big gang.
Now we were laughing till tears spilled over the rims of our eyes. I was really fond of this English teacher of ours then, and I used to take a flower for her sometimes, with the hope that she would warm her ever chilly behavior a little towards me. This teacher had failed to look deep in my eyes; her glance had some myopic sight which only liked to look at my good enough scores in her language paper. On such occasions my friend had teased me, bullied me, snatched the flower from me and raced with it to my favourite teacher. I never chased her, never tried to reach her. She sped like the wind, gleefully. I just stood there.
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