The morning-sky-gazing- routine was in its last minute when the phone jangled uncharacteristically through the bird-song and pine-tree-whispers. Early morning phone calls are rare and scary, but this one carried the beloved voice of a dear friend from the southern tip of India.
She warbled and chirped about nothing in particular, just happy to hear me smiling my replies, and sharing that sublime feeling of waking up and wanting to reach out to me. She talked about her beloved routine at the hospital, the presence of women guards and ambulance drivers in the entire med city campus, and the normal-caring-up-and-down-life of her son and his girlfriend. I remarked on the joy in her voice, we both demanded a visit from each other, and then, with big smiles on faces, we put down our phones and jumped back into our respective lives.
Our 30 year friendship has bloomed on our shared diversity. We had started out with me talking and her listening. My marriage was crumbling softly around the family and there was a haze of bitter regrets and unshared angst hanging over the ruins. I had to traverse that thorny path of anger, blame and confusion in a foreign country, and there was no family support in that little desert village in Oman. Family, at times of annihilation, are the best for physical or economic support, but its hard to keep aside the “I-told-you-so” when the annihilated one just wants to rant and rave her way to the other side of heartbreak river.
And this is where she came in. A fellow private practitioner in a tiny village which was exactly half way between the city and my tiny village, we began with the 100 km drive to the city. I would do the driving and the talking, while she listened, made the right sounds of “hmmm….really?!!…..oh no… etc”, and inserted some objective sentences to halt my tirade. She would find ways to praise my husband, refer constantly to his talents, and force me to look at the situation from his viewpoint.
Many a time I would get the impulse to push her out of the car. She was supposed to be my friend, for God’s sake! But then, a spicy home-cooked meal from her kitchen, and our bond would remain. She introduced the girls to biryani, fried-with-love-and-soya-sauce-chicken (the eternal favorite of this Srikanth household), zingy hot curries and that unforgettable treat of puran-polis of Maharashtra. Their surrogate mother amongst many, she would step in when work, marriage ruins and single parenthood would take their toll on my good spirits. Late night movies ( 100 kms away), chinese lunches, golgappas and chaat, BHS sales and long walks down the aisles of grocery malls—we did it all with me talking, she listening.
Seven or more years later, after navigating through a minimal-trauma-divorce, and after getting the systems of single parenthood in place, I had sailed into the harbor of peace.
It was then, during one of our 100 km drives, that my selfish mind was hit by a bolt from the blue. My friend was going through tough times and needed my support. Immersed in my own clouds of anger and angst, I had always assumed that she was lucky, happy and perfectly fine and had been sent into my life just to help me. Selfish, selfish Me!!
Those were the days when I realized some hard facts of life…facts related to the inevitable day-and-night routine in every life, the deep need for support /encouragement/appreciation in every heart, and the oxygenating presence of a non-judgmental friend when one has to make choices.
My friend needed my fiery optimism and courage, as much as I required her peaceful viewpoint. Her appreciation made me revel in my qualities, in the same way as my admiration made her believe in herself. It was this give and take of opposites which made each of us grow into women of substance—different substances, but women of strength alright!
Years have flown past and our bond remains. In her fifties, she has toiled nights to get her Masters in Hospital Management and become a top honcho in that field. Her culinary and domestic skills have been deliberately put on the back burner and she tours the entire country accrediting and discrediting medical colleges. And she remembers to regularly touch base with this friend, who has specialized on making others call by just thinking about them. On my rare days of confusion and cloudy feelings, I know her phone call will come . and she knows that when life is grey and gloomy , she can switch to the other side—one call to me and she will remember all the things which make her my unique friend.