Old Friends

All throughout our lives, we meet people. Lots of them.






And we befriend some of them while struggling to get through our existences.


Some of them stick around forever.
Most ghost out.
This one’s for them.

We might’ve been great friends once.




But somewhere down the road, we got cut off. We stopped hanging out, stopped talking, stopped enquiring.
We changed paths, went our own separate ways. Probably fell apart. It happens.

But know this.


I might’ve tried really hard to get back in touch with you. Maybe you did too.

Maybe you never responded. Maybe I didn’t.


But when I think of us, I think happy memories.

I might’ve been angry with you over something. I might’ve been hurt. You probably would’ve been too.

But growing older (and a little wiser), I would rather associate my memories with you as fond, rather than regretful.

After all, we did spend a couple of good years together- laughing till our stomachs hurt, dancing the night away, sharing secrets, sitting together in comfortable silences, wiping each other’s tears, hugging the pain away.




For the times I couldn’t be there for you.

For the times I failed you as a friend.

For the times I said hurtful things.

For the times I acted irresponsibly.

For all the times you felt alone.


I’m sorry.

We might’ve grown apart over the years, might’ve forgotten each other’s numbers, but today I promise you this, if you ever need me, you know where to find me and I’ll be there for you.


And I wish you nothing but the best in your life.


Take care.

I love you.


Of Futures and Friendships

Lately I’ve been having identity issues, which are mainly being caused by two reasons:

A. NO idea of what I’m going to be doing in the future.
B. Unsurety of the people in my life.

The first, I can try to handle. In a phase where most people around me know what their next step is, I don’t have the slightest idea of my answer to the question, “What next?” Sure, I don’t want to practice dentistry and want to do something on the lines of what I’m doing right now- Write, but I don’t know how to work for it. But I guess I’ll figure it out. Eventually. I hope.

Coming on to people, talk about friends. Talk about family. Talk about having people in your life who you can call at 3 am because you’re having a meltdown. About people whose places you can crash at when you’re visiting their city. Talk about people who cheer you on in your life, even if it’s when you’re crushing on a super cute guy or chasing after him on the street. About people who bitch about the people you hate even though they haven’t met. About people who are YOUR people.

All through school, college and work life, we meet people, we make friends, make enemies, make memories. But as time passes, you realise the people you called your “friends”, the people you sat in groups with and fooled around with were never really your friends. They were just people in your life who you spent time with in order to avoid being alone and somehow believed they were faithful to the sacred vows of friendship.

It doesn’t matter if you talk twice a year, on each other’s birthdays or every now and then. Your true friends will always be around to pat you on your back or slap you in your face. They will always be there when you need them. Your conversations will always begin with, “bitch where have you been?” followed by numerous other gaalis, but your sisterhood will always be pure.

And just last night, after my usual ritual of pre-bed facebook and Instagram, I felt so fucking low. Cuz I fathomed how alone I really was, atleast in my city, and I broke down, tears and all. Having nobody you could physically confront is like a jab in the side. But I knew who I could talk to. We’re miles away, but we never miss a single gossip thread, or an opportunity for a bitch fest. And similarly, I have a few more, all in different cities, but all the same- all soul sisters.


I know which of the strangers out there are my people.
And although it hurts that they’re not close by, I have a warmth that wherever they are, they’re mine.

The Ones We Chose

Friends are our second family. They’re the family we choose for ourselves, handpicking each one of them owing to our own interests. Friends can make or break a person. But most of all, they bring out either the best or the worst in us.

Over time, we learn to classify and categorise the people we are acquainted with. We label them either as enemies, friends, best friends or simple acquaintances. Me? I label my friends as my family. They’re the people who I turn to when I have no one. And by the grace of the Almighty, I have been blessed with a handful of really wonderful people who I have the honour of calling my friends, and also, family.

It’s the moments we share with these people, the laughter, the joy, the gossip, the fun, the ups and most importantly, the downs, that pave our path to our future selves. I believe that friends are as much responsible as family when it comes to how we end up as people. Our company defines who we are.

Sometimes, we end up trusting the wrong person- the kind of person who is good at faking their personalities, and are hypocrites in their true form. These people bring out our bad side, and injure the aspect of faith. It may seem impossible to figure out who is what, but don’t be disheartened when you break because of someone. Consider yourself lucky you found out before more damage could be done. And of course, it helps you to be cautious in the future.

You know the saying, “People don’t change. They just become a clearer version of who they are.”
This is partially true. I believe people DO change. Situations and circumstances mould a person as they come across them. They change either for the better, or for the worse. But as long as they have somebody to help them carve their lives onto the right path, they have nothing to worry about.

Friends give us that push to help us get the extra mile. They’re the people who you can throw tantrums at and know that they’ll still stick around.  The people who you might forget for an instant when you are busy with life, but when you go back to them, they’ll welcome you with open arms. They’re the people with whom you can check other people out with, hit on the ones you like and bitch about the ones you hate. The ones you can be yourself with, the people who matter. The people who will be there at 4 am when you need them. The ones who will break faces of the people who break your heart. The people who aren’t related, but are still family.

A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow.
― William Shakespeare


There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with chocolate.
– Charles Dickens

Asma and I

Friendship is a relationship of mutual affection between two or more people. Friendship is a stronger form of interpersonal bond than an acquaintanceship.

Back in the summer of 2007, I qualified the Senior Secondary School Entrance Examination (Science stream) of the Aligarh Muslim University. Little was I aware, of what was in store for me.

When I joined the school in August 2007, I made acquaintances with a couple of people, particularly the back benchers.  One of them was my roommate in the hostel and the other 2 were old friends. As time passed by, I became friendly with the entire class. One of them was Asma Khalid- a perky girl from Calcutta (present Kolkata) who I secretly admired for being fluent in English. The 2 years we spent together in school, were good. Me and Asma were good friends. We had fun when we could; we were even “punished” by a newbie English teacher who we called ‘Fatto’ (which was short for Fatima. She wasn’t fat.) We shared the same passion for stick figures and doodling. We even opened up to each other once in a while when things weren’t all that great.

In 2009, we graduated and went our separate ways. We stayed in touch, but not too often. Each was busy preparing for their next biggest hurdle- The PMTs. After a year or so, in 2011, thanks to WhatsApp, Asma and I got in touch. We started talking more- about life, about old “friends”, the bitching, the backstabbing, the personal affairs, the works. And I realized what I had missed out on in        XIth and XIIth. Asma wasn’t just some chick who was good in English, she was by far one of the most amazing human beings I had the honour of knowing.

I could talk to her about things I couldn’t with anyone else. Not only because she was a good listener, but also because I knew I wouldn’t be judged, and if I were wrong, I would be corrected in the right manner. And the topics we talked about could’ve been as obvious as boys or as arbitrary as Dolan duck’s boner.

At times, our conversations are so supportive and heartfelt that I regret not being better friends with her in school. Both of us would’ve been spared of our fake friends.
But then again, I know her now and although I really wish that we were in the same city, I can’t love and appreciate her enough. I really do hope I get to see her someday.

And Asma, if you’re reading this and I’m pretty sure you are: Plz.