I HAVE A FRIEND!

A girl, one I talk to often. We’ve spoken of nothings, sometimes more than nothings. We have met for momos, for coffee. We have shared laughs. She calls me her friend. She confides in me, and I in her. But my secrets do not matter, I have no lover to hide, no beau to hide secrets from. Her were treasures, so I had to guard my tongue, my soul.

I say something harsh to her beau, he is 19 years older and I laugh. Is this woman Jane Eyre, I think. Suddenly she is stern, a schoolmistress. I listen anyway, why anger a girl who calls me a friend?

I meet her far from our town and we hear talks together. Have lunch together. I meet her friends, uninterested in the place. We dine together, attend a dance. Ah, such revelry! I see her on the brink of giving in to something she may regret later and think, don’t friends save each other? I talk to her, cajole her to think of her love that wonderful man she keeps talking about. She calls me an overbearing person, couldn’t I see she was fine? I listen anyway, why anger a girl who calls me a friend?

We stay together, discuss serious things. What did I think of Ramachandra Guha? And labeling to destroy? What was post-colonialism? She mimics people from across the world, Texans, Bengalis, teachers, peers. She tells me I am not dumb, I am intellectual. I am dazzling. I ask her friend how things were with the friend’s ex. She is angry, I see. She turns her back and walks. She tells me later to return the fifty rupees she had lent me many weeks ago. And what of my few rupees, I think. But why ask, better to let the storm blow. I listen anyway, why anger a girl who calls me a friend?

I am sad, broken. So many things have happened. My post was taken away; a slip of a girl replaced me. I feel listless, I am ill. Many fights happen and I am using all my will to keep things together, to smile. She says she will call, I wait. Days pass. She says she will call and I wait. Weeks pass.  She says she would but were these not reassurances? I listen anyway, why anger a girl who calls me a friend?

Calamity after calamity! I need a friend to talk to but cannot find her. No car could take me to her, nothing could help me. Unsympathetic men wouldn’t understand, they only belittled the intensity of my pain. I search this crowd of ‘hellos’. She says she will call. I have exams too! I have commitments too! In the vast interstices of time, can one not find moments to talk to another? Was I not ‘intellectual’? Was I not a ‘friend’? Don’t they say that friends lend a shoulder, an ear? But that is from fables, she was my friend. Of course friends are busy. I must not make a spectacle of myself, calling, sending message after message. Perhaps I should drink it all in. Yes, that is what I must do. I do send a message. She has an exam the next day, she is busy. I listen anyway, why anger a girl who calls me a friend?

I meet her beloved, some strange place we never talk about, I wonder why. I was there to laugh at the crowds who thronged there, he was there to  admire the friends who had put up such a delightful show, a perfect little hack-piece of a real, most splendid thing. So many thousands of people and yet, I meet, him? Of course this was funny! We laugh at this absurdity. At Chance who plays strange games. He always sounded like a kindly person and I laughed at his good looks. He chided me for my sarcasm, for the jibes.

She sent me a message! Oh she wanted to talk to me, finally help me through this troubled time. Oh but maybe she heard about that meeting. But how was that possible? She hadn’t been talking to him; there had been some fight! Oh maybe she wanted to laugh at that absurd meeting. She asked me how I was, listened for a few moments. She told me what friends did not do. They did not tell their friend’s beloveds, even in jest that they had good looks. But surely she knew me! I would never breach so sacred a trust; she had called me a friend. She said I had misbehaved, although he had assured her it was jest but this was a talk between women. Why, I wondered. She had never gone beyond her limits, so neither must I. But I hadn’t! For a comment filled with sarcasm? For a laugh? The jealous fury of this girl who called me a friend? For a man who lived far away? But she told me this was how she felt. I listen anyway, why anger a girl who calls me a friend?

She chastised me in that schoolmistress way. I had only words, words that meant nothing. Was I to sympathize with her, who felt such jealousy? But why? This was something to laugh about, something about which we’d say, “can you imagine? Ha ha ha!” But no, this was greater than my misery, this laugh. Greater than my tears, my deep failure. I listen anyway, why anger a girl who calls me a friend?

She had called to extract a promise, one of silence. But don’t friends take the Vow of Secrecy? Was I not her good friend? She asked and I gave. I listen anyway, why anger a girl who calls me a friend?

Why call me a friend, disloyal, spiteful, lustful seditious me? Incapable of honour, of restraint? A slut to run after men? I needed a talk, but I wasn’t worthy of such time. But I eagerly received her. I listen anyway, why anger a girl who calls me a friend?