Lost in time

I no longer remember what he looks like. But his name and thoughts of him always unsettle me. It's a dull ache but the heart feels light and warm. I hear my mother tell me that he visited her some time back. He's been going to see her wherever he visits the little town.

We met at 7. I went for a coaching camp and while the others went home after training I had to stay on my own in the guest house. For I was the only out of towner. So he took me home to his mother and said, "She's all alone here. Can she stay with us?"

The indulgent mother agrees. An extra bed was moved into his room and I became part of the family. A family of 3 boys and the parents. The boys were curious and happy to find a girl in the house and hung around me most of the time. On my part, I was introduced to noisy arguments at the dinner table and massive consumption of food. The youngest, my friend, was the pampered prince and used his position well.

Later there are questions about my family and thankfully it was discovered that the families knew of each other. While my parents wondered about the people who were voluntarily playing foster parents to me, this family was glad to have a little girl in their midst.

That was the beginning of a home away from home. Of a very important person in my life. We grew really thick. We shared a comfort level that the bestest of friends boast of, and a sense of security and protectiveness that siblings can account for. The whole year as we travelled together, we had each other for company. Two young people tasting life in a grown up world. The happiness was shared, so were the tears. And finally we would come back home together.

We went for practice on his little scooter. And when it ran out of gas, I would push it all the way uphill and then jump behind him to enjoy the ride down. Then there were the beautiful dates with me dressed as prettily as possible, and he, in his neatest, and off we went to have a dinner all by ourselves. We behaved like grown ups and he always paid the bill. Bach at home, I, of course, pulled his hair and we argued till his mother came and put us in separate rooms.

When I wore a saree for the first time, he held my pleats while his brother ironed my blouse. I still draped the saree the wrong way and only realized it when friends saw me in the evening and roared with laughter.

Then a bigger world beckoned and I took flight. For a supposedly better education and to settle my restless heart. College took over and the conversations got difficult. Considering it was over snail mail, a lot happened between one letter and the next. They trickled to a full stop. And finally one day, I realized I no longer know the person I grew up with. I have not spoken to him in more than 14 years. He visits my mother and she passes on titbits about him.

It might seem easy to catch up. But it isn't. He doesn't seem interested and I also have stopped making an effort. I don't know why it has to be like this. I don't even know what else it can be like. But honest, it leaves my heart dull and soft.