Connect with like minded women from the industry and leaders from Corporate circles and let’s listen to some truly inspiring stories of women who have gone beyond their comfort zones! Join us on 9th August, in Bangalore for WICA 2019
Two young women and a bond of friendship; the best moments of friendship are sometimes those where nothing is said, and everything understood.
By Paromita Bardoloi
Just a few days ago, I was woken up by the phone ringing. Someone called up; the only thing I heard for sure was that Radha’s mother had expired the night before. Radha and I are kindergarten friends; she is married and settled in Kolkata. I spoke to her a few days back; she said that aunty was suffering from jaundice. And the next I hear is that she is dead.
Radha is the only child of her parents. And recently we discovered that this year marks our 25th year of being friends. I come from a very small town. While growing up, I only knew four streets. One took me home, the other to school, the third to my tuition teacher’s house and the last to Radha’s home, which was definitely my favorite.
It’s difficult to guess the roles people end up playing in your life. I lost my father when I was hardly eleven. As a kid who was just preparing for her Hindi class test the next day, it was a numbing feeling to see so many people crying. I still do not know how I must have felt. But I knew from then on, I was expected to act differently and do things differently. That day was the last day I was a child.
From that day, there were no holidays or drives to distant places. But God can never leave nothing to a child. In the bosom of heartaches, Radha and I became close. It fascinates me now, how she, who was also eleven then, accepted my fate. She did not ask me what happened or anything else. She was just there as a friend. There were two paradises I knew then: School and Radha’s place. Saturday was half day at school and most of the time Radha would invite me for lunch. My happiness knew no bounds when aunty would ask me to stay over. I had free access to her place. I have lost count of the number of lunches and dinners I had at her home. Now that I look back, I think of her mother with the deepest gratitude and fondness for giving me a home.
Being with Radha gave me solace. I felt special. All her birthdays, I got to stand next to her when she cut the cake. I never liked my tiffin at school. I always ate hers. That’s still a joke with my friends that I ate others’ tiffin. Though I was so young then, those days, everything at home felt gloomy. Life seemed longer than destiny. But I had Radha, life moved on, we grew up and she got married too.
She came home after the demise of aunty, I did not ask much. I just talked about everyday things – I guess I was doing what she did seventeen years back; accepting destiny. Our old school friends also came, we talked and chatted. With all of us, that was the only time Radha cried. I still do not understand why everyone who came to meet her kept asking how it all happened. I do not understand how knowing if her mother was in ICU or not can help. Grief is something very private. The only time she cried was with us, for we did not ask a thing. We understood that mourning does not need provocation; it needs its own time.
On the day of Shraddh I was one of the last to leave. Vicky, one of our school buddies drove me home. Just before leaving, I looked back. I saw Radha in front of her house. I watched her 6 year old son playing. It was the same road we must have walked more than a thousand times with each other, played in the same space as her son is playing now. Everything has changed. Aunty is no more but amidst all this, our friendship has stood by.
As, the car drove off and I saw the dim lights and Radha’s fading figure, I just realized that no matter what, a woman will forever need another woman close to her, to survive and grow. I am glad, Radha and I have each other in life to grow, love and survive.
*Photo credit: muvare (Used under the Creative Commons Attribution License.)
A simply superb article. Please accept my lack of words as my silent appreciation. You made me time-travel to a dusty old lane too. Thank you. 🙂
Thank you so much Saumya. I guess, its an writer’s pleasure to know that his/her writings have taken the reader through time.
What would we do without our women.
Personally I would had been a lost woman!!!!
U knw m bad in writing but still…d only wrds dat r cming out frm my heart is dat u r for sure d bestest gift i hv ever got as a friend..as a companion…i never wanted to cry infrnt of u dat day. But…
After reading ur article i cried d way i cried in d hospital…missing my mom…der is no one else who can feel the pain xcatly d way i felt..u understand me so well..thnk u for being wid me.lots of love to u..miSsing ur hug.proud we r together.
extremely well written article! Grief and how we face it or hide from it is an extreme complex feeling to deal with. Grief makes us sensitive and strong both at a same time.
I wish your friend will be able to find a way out and you will always be with her, not for asking questions but for just being there!
Thankyou so much Chandrima
lovely friendship. god bless you both.
Thank you so much
A beautiful article…it choked me up cause I’ve been blesses with a friend much like your Radha…I know how priceless she feels to you…how utterly at ease you feel with her…God Bless such wonderful friends…what would our life be without them…
What would we do without our friends. Thanks Kann Mashi.
This article definitely struck a chord in my heart…
Women And Environmental Conservation
Being Niharika’s Mother
My Mother, My Hero
Can An Indian Daughter Truly Mourn Her Mother?
Get our weekly mailer and never miss out on the best reads by and about women!