I still Remember those days.........

Vidya Arun · Sep 18, 2008

My dear IL friends

Today was Prashanthi's(My dearmost friend) 4th devasam..Coming back from the temple i was reading through the diary that she gave me when we finished college..Almost 13years of togetherness, her parting was a huge loss for me..... In her rememberance i write these few lines.........

Dear,

Do you remember when summer was like eternity? School would release us into the season, and we would greet it exuberantly, knowing that it would not end. The last day of final exams, already scorching, already lazy, could not come soon enough, and for those who had an afternoon exam, life’s cruel ways were unfathomable. The rest would go home, eat lunch, change into their home clothes and read or sleep or meet friends. When we were older, there were sometimes last day of school movies too. We would hurriedly seek our pleasures although an unending season of unlimited idleness was ours.
The last day of school was the first day of bringing home a huge stack of story-books to be devoured like Alphonso mangoes. The most demanding thing we did was to consume the mango while reading the book without dripping its heavenly juice on the pages. Growing older, one developed a taste for the Alphonso’s tender skin, and learned to suck at the seed so as not to let a single drop go waste. Yes, the other great exertion of the season was pulling out those little mango fibres that would get caught between my teeth.
The stone cold mosaic floor, the racing ceiling fan, the resilience of childhood and stories set in cold damp England, snowy Massachusetts or some less exacting clime made us oblivious to the heat and humidity.
Summer mornings. When the day would pat us awake at 5:30, nudge us awake at 6:30 and bathe us in sweat by 7. We were teenagers and we did not care. We would dress for the day and set out on completely pointless expeditions to the beach or local market street or to the playground. Unwilling to waste the veyyil (sun’s glare) for a minute, as we say in Tamil, we would gallivant hither and yon. Return after a long time (usually about two hours) and then sit under the fan with water. And after all that activity, the day still stretched before us.
I was not at all athletic. But to those who were, afternoons were a time to go down and play. The more fierce the sun, the more heated the competition between buildings, between gangs, between friends. Ah, what energy we had! In the evenings, others of us would walk. Take a turn, as the Victorian novelists were apt to put it. We would discuss life’s important issues. And come home with time to spare for television, dinner and another of those books.
Summer was also a season of visiting family. Sometimes the summer would be broken up into before travel, the trip and after travel. One needed to travel always with enough inland letter cards to write faithfully to one’s friends. After all, a separation of two weeks was really long and might place a tremendous strain on the friendship. Travels, whether one’s own or another’s, was for most of us family-related. The twenty-four samskaras scheduled when convenient to coincide with everyone’s summer holidays, notwithstanding the severities of the season.
Games, fights, rehearsals, plays, meeting each other’s friends, sharing each other’s lives for a few moments… but with the feeling of forever. Every love, every hate, every resentment, every passion… forever.
And so the summer wore on. Sunny, hot April, fresh with the joy of new holidays. Long, muggy May, season of travels, season of returns, water-short season, season of waiting,… waiting for rain. And then, June and rain. Writing and love. Again and again and again. April into May into those first blessed showers, and the promise of new uniforms, new rainshoes, new raincoats, new books, yards of brown paper cover, new textbooks, new universes to explore… this year, every year, everything will be different.
And now here we are, my dear, all grown up. I write this in a land without Alphonso mangoes. Life is all summer in its ordeals by fire and all winter in the lonely walk through each of them. In your eyes, in the promise of you, I catch a glimpse of eternity and it passes, much like the summer does now, chopped into portions, deadline by deadline. I cannot bear the heat, and it does not warm my heart. The days wear me down as they whip past me, and I wait, wait, wait for the monsoon that will not come to me. There will be no rain, no wind, no song, no verse, no love, no release—not in my heart. And so I sit here, hot and tired, and ask you, “My dear, do you remember those golden days we spent together…?”

LOVE
Vidya

sundarusha · Sep 18, 2008

Dear Vidya

The closeness you shared with Prashanthi is very obvious as I started reading the first few lines that you have written this with a heavy heart.
You have brought the last days of the school year so vividly. We could see the restlessness students felt for the school holidays that escalated from April itself. And I could imagine the poor souls who had their exams in the late afternoon when they could have been in a movie theatre, especially if it were the last day of the exams?
I loved the way you have described the devouring of the story books to Alphonso mangoes. I did not know there was so much finesse involved in eating mangoes. I usually chop them into pieces and get rid of the skin.
Your pointless expeditions to the beach, local market made me recollect some of my own with either a cousin or a friend. You totally refreshed my memories of visits with relatives, the partings and promises to write letters. The last para was just superb.
Thanks for sharing, Vidya

Sriniketan · Sep 18, 2008

I am very sad to hear about Prashanthi...i can feel your sadness too from your lines..Vidya!

what kind of friendship you both had shared...nice to read that..and all the summer happenings after school...

she is definitely watching upon you..and would definitely remeber those days..May her soul rest in peace..

sriniketan

Saraswathipv · Sep 18, 2008

Dear Vidya,

You have brilliantly brought back those beautiful summer holidays that we looked forward to..during our school days.
Your description of relishing the mango without wanting to waste a single drop of juice, playing madly under the blazing sunshine, etc., made me nostalgic..
Do kids nowadays enjoy the same way? not so sure....I miss those days.....
It must have been with a very heavy heart for you.. to recall those moments spend with a dear one who is now a departed soul. I join others in prayers for her.

Bye

Stillagirl · Sep 18, 2008

Friends mean the world, I wouldn't know what my memories would be without them...Can relate to how one keeps looking back at those "golden" days .... Whenever I feel slightly gloomy I thing of the line "Raat ke baad hi to Savera Hota hai"

There will be new friends and new memories to cherish....

Anandchitra · Sep 18, 2008

Vidya
May your friend's soul rest in peace.
You have written in your unique style a touching tribute to a beautiful friendship. It is indeed sad that person is no more. God should give you strength to bear this loss. Thanks for sharing.

aproop · Sep 18, 2008

Dear Vidya,

very touching writeup. May your friend's soul rest in peace.
Time spent with friends are indeed precious and treasured forever...

love,
Anu

varalotti · Sep 19, 2008

Dear Vidya,

The best of pathos comes out when you don't directly talk about your grief but when you talk about the good times and there is a subtle hint of sorrow in the narration. Your post could be described as an ode to your best friend. I am still wondering what caused her early, untimely death.

The style was usual - the inimitable Vidya's style with words sitting nicely in the places assigned by you and doing their function with unusual grace.

We would hurriedly seek our pleasures although an unending season of unlimited idleness was ours.
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The above is one such instance. Hurriedly seeking our pleasures is a very deep expression conveying quite a lot of meanings, stirring a myriad of emotions in one's heart.

The description of your exam days brought back the memories of my own, especially when I wrote the mother of all exams - CA Final. In those days we had 9 papers for the Final exam at a stretch but for intervening Sundays. On the first day we will be like the fresh rose with dew drops still intact on its petals. But come the 5th or 6th day, even a withered rose will look fresher than us. And the real happiness is after the last exam. The walk home will be the ultimate exercise in happiness.

The most demanding thing we did was to consume the mango while reading the book without dripping its heavenly juice on the pages.
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Only a person who has enjoyed Mangoes and who has enjoyed reading books and who has indulged in these lovable activities simultaneously can enjoy the truth contained in these lines.

And now here we are, my dear, all grown up. I write this in a land without Alphonso mangoes. Life is all summer in its ordeals by fire and all winter in the lonely walk through each of them. In your eyes, in the promise of you, I catch a glimpse of eternity and it passes, much like the summer does now, chopped into portions, deadline by deadline.
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There could not be a better description of our losing our innocence and life losing its usual charms for us. "chopped into portions, deadline by deadline" - these poetic words bring to light the prosaic lives we are leading bound by our profession and confined to our desks.

The post was so very wholesome, Vidya, that suddenly I had a feeling that I have to say something on the negative side to avoid evil eyes being cast on you. I went on and read the post again and again but could not find even a small lapse or an inconsistency. At the same time I don't want evil eyes on somebody as dear to me as my daughter.

This was what I could manage: You should have set the colour of the font a little darker. My fifty year old eyes found it a little strenuous to read the post.
Of course I quoted your entire post in my response, changed the colour to black and read it again. To read it a second time was a greater pleasure.

Way to go, Vidya. May Prasanthi's soul rest in peace.

love,
sridhar

Vidya Arun said: ↑

My dear IL friends

Today was Prashanthi's(My dearmost friend) 4th devasam..Coming back from the temple i was reading through the diary that she gave me when we finished college..Almost 13years of togetherness, her parting was a huge loss for me..... In her rememberance i write these few lines.........

Dear,

Do you remember when summer was like eternity? School would release us into the season, and we would greet it exuberantly, knowing that it would not end. The last day of final exams, already scorching, already lazy, could not come soon enough, and for those who had an afternoon exam, life’s cruel ways were unfathomable. The rest would go home, eat lunch, change into their home clothes and read or sleep or meet friends. When we were older, there were sometimes last day of school movies too. We would hurriedly seek our pleasures although an unending season of unlimited idleness was ours.
The last day of school was the first day of bringing home a huge stack of story-books to be devoured like Alphonso mangoes. The most demanding thing we did was to consume the mango while reading the book without dripping its heavenly juice on the pages. Growing older, one developed a taste for the Alphonso’s tender skin, and learned to suck at the seed so as not to let a single drop go waste. Yes, the other great exertion of the season was pulling out those little mango fibres that would get caught between my teeth.
The stone cold mosaic floor, the racing ceiling fan, the resilience of childhood and stories set in cold damp England, snowy Massachusetts or some less exacting clime made us oblivious to the heat and humidity.
Summer mornings. When the day would pat us awake at 5:30, nudge us awake at 6:30 and bathe us in sweat by 7. We were teenagers and we did not care. We would dress for the day and set out on completely pointless expeditions to the beach or local market street or to the playground. Unwilling to waste the veyyil (sun’s glare) for a minute, as we say in Tamil, we would gallivant hither and yon. Return after a long time (usually about two hours) and then sit under the fan with water. And after all that activity, the day still stretched before us.
I was not at all athletic. But to those who were, afternoons were a time to go down and play. The more fierce the sun, the more heated the competition between buildings, between gangs, between friends. Ah, what energy we had! In the evenings, others of us would walk. Take a turn, as the Victorian novelists were apt to put it. We would discuss life’s important issues. And come home with time to spare for television, dinner and another of those books.
Summer was also a season of visiting family. Sometimes the summer would be broken up into before travel, the trip and after travel. One needed to travel always with enough inland letter cards to write faithfully to one’s friends. After all, a separation of two weeks was really long and might place a tremendous strain on the friendship. Travels, whether one’s own or another’s, was for most of us family-related. The twenty-four samskaras scheduled when convenient to coincide with everyone’s summer holidays, notwithstanding the severities of the season.
Games, fights, rehearsals, plays, meeting each other’s friends, sharing each other’s lives for a few moments… but with the feeling of forever. Every love, every hate, every resentment, every passion… forever.
And so the summer wore on. Sunny, hot April, fresh with the joy of new holidays. Long, muggy May, season of travels, season of returns, water-short season, season of waiting,… waiting for rain. And then, June and rain. Writing and love. Again and again and again. April into May into those first blessed showers, and the promise of new uniforms, new rainshoes, new raincoats, new books, yards of brown paper cover, new textbooks, new universes to explore… this year, every year, everything will be different.
And now here we are, my dear, all grown up. I write this in a land without Alphonso mangoes. Life is all summer in its ordeals by fire and all winter in the lonely walk through each of them. In your eyes, in the promise of you, I catch a glimpse of eternity and it passes, much like the summer does now, chopped into portions, deadline by deadline. I cannot bear the heat, and it does not warm my heart. The days wear me down as they whip past me, and I wait, wait, wait for the monsoon that will not come to me. There will be no rain, no wind, no song, no verse, no love, no release—not in my heart. And so I sit here, hot and tired, and ask you, “My dear, do you remember those golden days we spent together…?”

LOVE
Vidya
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Lalitha Shivaguru · Sep 23, 2008

Dear Vidya,

Sorry for my late entry............though I read this piece the first day itself but just could not come and give my comments. Please excuse for that.

This was one beautiful ode for a dear friend. The grief of missing her has been broughtout so eloquently dear. I was wondering what caused her early exit..

The last paragraph really touched my heart.

Totally a wonderful piece of writing dear.

Vidya Arun · Sep 24, 2008

Dear Usha

As always your feedback moved me and felt very comforting. I am really sorry for not thanking you earlier since i have been buried in work lately. Yes i really miss my dear friend with whom i spent all my childhood and teen days. Well the fun lasted as long as she kept well and once the evil tumor started growing we both were pretty shattered. She still lives with me and drives my life well and in good stead.

Thanks for your feedback Usha and it was refreshing to see that it made you nostalgic..

Love
Vidya