We make some sort of friends throughout our lives. But we still call the ones we made in our early youth our actual friends. We meet and recount those same stories again and again. Stories of innocence, bravado, carelessness, gall, audacity, stupidity, masti, hansi, khushi, shararat. Why do we keep going back to hear what we already know? Because these friends are connoisseurs of us. They are the timekeepers of our past selves that was made of something wonderful. And through their stories, that wonder, that experience of us being more than what we are today, is kept alive. They are our witnesses. And we are theirs.
“मुझे मुझसे मिलने के लिये
एक पुराने दोस्त से मिलना पड़ता है”
I sometimes like to think of our friends like a Jenga game. Although from afar all rows look the same, the ones we at the bottom of the pile are in fact the ones that are holding the entire structure (life) up. The ones on top can come and go without really toppling our lives, but we need to really think hard before moving the ones from the bottom.
ReplyDeleteThe nice thing about Jenga, and about life too, is that even when we pull the ones out from the bottom, those memories, we don't discard them, we just bring them to the top, hoping it will give some new character to this Jenga board. And sometimes that works too.
That’s a wonderful simile :D Especially the part about bringing old memories back up.
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