Memoirs of a Golden Friendship

30 June 2009

8.20 pm

While I sat on the cozy sofa in my room, my phone suddenly sprang to life. A strange number filled up the screen:

“+8801918930154 calling”

Praying it wasn’t a virus call, I pressed the green button.

“Hello?”, I enquired.

--“Hello.. Ma.. azz.. Hel.. llo?”, the words unclear.

“Hello..”

--“Mazz, its me Ab.. ir.. Abb.. iir”.

“Abir! Abbe yaar, where are you calling from?”.

--“Bang.. Bangladesh man. Ba.. gl.. sh”, the words still unclear.

“What? Bangladesh? When did you reach?”

--“It’s be..een.. been a few daysss now. I’m here man. Vacations!”

I sighed a relief of the line becoming clear.

“So at last, after 10-12 years of waiting, you finally happened to see your country huh?”

--“Hahaha.. Go man. I’m enjoying yaar. Did your classes start?”

“ Yeah da. 11^th’s not as we thought. Thick books suck us in man.”

--“Hehe. How’s your mom? She hasn’t gone back to Oman right?”

“No yaar she has gone back. She’s fine. You joined any school?”

--“Hmm yeah, Indian School Nizwa. Classes start in July.”

“Hmmm…”

--“Yaar, I think my balance is almost drained. Uncle will kill me if it’s over. So bye.”

“Ok da. Never expected your call. But I don’t know, I feel so happy now. Okay da bye.”

--“Miss you man. Take care. Bye”

I heard the beep as he cut the call. With a mind brimming with happiness and nostalgia, I led my way outside the room to the lonely verandah of my home, to set off to that world of mine.

After completing my Grade X in Oman, painfully did I come to India, leaving back the gems of my life- my friends. Perhaps the diamond among them was Abir- the guy who called me from Bangladesh.

Abir… Full name: Abir Chowdhary, though we call him “Abir ‘Cow Dairy’” mocking his proud surname. Physically illustrating, he was short, had a very skeletal and slightly six-packed body (though it would seem his ribs were his six-pack). Small curls of hair covered his head. He had to wear spectacles, or else he would mistake an elephant for an ant. The best word to express him was: ‘Nuclear Explosion’. That huge was his levels of energy. And to see him not restless was as impossible as the sun rising in the West!

The word ‘Best Friend’ would have been inefficient in describing what he was to me. An unbreakable bond of brotherhood bound us both.

He hailed from Bangladesh. But for the past 10-12 years, he hadn’t seen his country. But that would be too short an excuse to separate his unique affection for his nation. Bangla was his drug, his soul. He knew everything about his nation. Bangla blood flooded his veins. Abir was a true patriot whom we all saw as the future President of Bangladesh. The vision he had neither seemed to a day dream nor a night mare. Seriously joking, we called it ‘The Guide to change the face of Bangladesh- by Abir Chowdhary’. The wisdom he possessed was that good that he could rule the World. But he was too much into politics- a vision strongly linked with his desire to change the way things were in his country. Seeing him on the verge of not utilizing his brain for something better than politics, I used to smirk “ Give me your brain and I’ll show you what’s exactly meant by money-making”.

My likes and dislikes, my aspirations and dreams, my problems and difficulties- all were known to him. At times, he used to be my professor, my counselor, at times, my Godfather, my mentor. And at times, my servant, my employee.

Memories of my ever-living friendship with him moved me as I sat on the verandah till someone called me in.

02 July 2009

10.07 pm

I fell asleep early that night. To wake me up from my dreams, the phone shouted, indicating a call. Picking it up, I realized it was my mom calling from Oman.

“Mazee, you slept?”

--“Hmm. Almost.. How are you mom?”

“Everything’s alright here. Did any of your friends call you?”

--“No Ma. Ah yeah.. Abir had called from Bangladesh.. But that was two days ago”

“Abir? Err.. Is it? Hmmm. Maazin, Daniel uncle had rung up now. He said ... Nothing to worry... that Abir has met with some accident... He’s hospitalized... Pray for him..

--“Ma, you telling he’s got some...”

“No nothing to worry about. He’s okay. It’s something minor. Just told you, that’s it. One more thing. Your sister's ticket is confirmed and she's boarding tonight. So be there at the airport by 6.30am. Okay? Good Night”

Words didn’t seem to come to my tongue. Without replying, I cut the call. Mom told it wasn’t serious. No it can’t be serious. With a heart of prayers for him, I tried to sleep again.

03 July 2009

7.30 am

I was in the Cochin International Airport waiting to receive my sister coming from Oman. And there she was, hanging bags and pulling the baggage trolley, and walking towards me with an ear-to-ear grin. I walked fast to her, hugged her, had a joyful exchange of words and stuffed her heavy baggage in the car’s boot. I knew from the moment she landed, it would be the happiest of my days in India. Well, but there was something that took away that expected joy.

“Any news of Abir?”, I enquired.

She never knew that Abir and I were best friends maybe because she stayed at a place far way from my home in Oman and was living her life with her husband and kid. Rare were the chances for her to know about my friends. Wearing an unhappy expression on her face, she pushed out words from her tongue.

“Abir passed away da.”

A sudden surge of an unexplainable feeling buried me. Four letters joined together, I spat a word:

“WHAT??”

I never wanted to believe what she said. How can she be so senseless in informing me the death of my soulmate? I knew I was weeping as tears poured down without limits. But I still didn’t want to believe it. Well, how can I? How dare he leaves me just like that and goes away?

I threw off cut words from my mouth:

“H..Howw d..id did thisss happn?”

“He drowned in a pond. He was off for swimming, it seems.”

Abir drowned in a pond. But he drowned me into a sea. Of sorrow. Nowhere in this world, will I find him anymore. And I realize nothing’s more painful than that. A day or two ago, one of your friends call you up and chat with you, and 2 days later you come to know he’s dead, how weird will that sound? Torture, anger, frustration, disappointment, disbelief were the feelings that embraced me head to toe at that moment. What if the world ends today? Won’t it? Can’t it? I felt my world was over without him. Where is he? Search for him!

Abir, do you even hear me? Man, where are you? Don’t you want to change the way things are? But you cheater, before changing Bangladesh, you changed yourself to an ice-cold dead body frozen in one of those hospitals in Bangladesh. Idiot, why don't you reply me? Or have you already pretended to be the President of Bangladesh? Remember, ‘The Guide to change the face of Bangladesh- by Abir Chowdhary’? Got any stupid publishers? Cheater, you defeated me, you indeed sunk me into the depths of loss. I’ve lost you man, forever. Go, I just don't feel like talking to you. You are a cheater. Left me alone here, left all our friends alone. Gone are those days where we all could live as a family. Because, now the person who bound us into a family is missing- Yes Abir, its you.. Only you…

Now he's not restless, not because now the sun rises in the West. Just because, he's in that permanent state of rest where he has chosen to cross the oblivion.

In the words of Swanand Kirkire,

“Behthi hawa sa tha voh…

Udthi pathang sa tha voh…

Kaha gaya? Use doonddo…”

My search for Abir begins with his end…