Rain memories | Freestyling

The human mind is fickle. There are things you want to remember forever, etched sharply in your mind; but trivialities that are barely worth a mention clutter our interior landscape. This is why I take refuge in words. Incidents, dreams, people all find their way onto paper and this has made me a better observer, I think. It's my attempt at being a tiny voice in the face of eternity's tsunami. I write to remember. By chance, I stumbled across something I wrote ten years ago. It's about old friends, the monsoon and memory. It struck a chord with me, and I hope this Freestyling helps you remember too.
Moments I Cherish (1994) It does not seem so long ago that we were together, the three of us, in that safe little cocoon we called mad house, Monkey house, my second home, Mount Hermon. We have all gone our separate ways now, meeting new people, seeing new places, facing new trials. Then sometimes I stop short at a particular sight, a smell or a snatch of a familiar song and it transports me back to those dear perfect days.

I cherish the time we spent together as we progressed from colour crayons to senior ink pens, how we squabbled over who would be Lorna Doone in our private three man plays. I remember the green of the grass the mottled blue and white sky, the gnarled rhododendron tree where we stretched ourselves out artistically as would the beautiful Lorna, as she slept. The garden transformed itself into the Doone valley as time and again we enacted the scenes.
We were so carefree. During the monsoons we used to run outside and wade through the slushy water, barefoot, building small moats and bridges that the water washed away quickly. No thoughts of tapeworms, round worms or hygiene entered our heads. We were just happy to be alive and together. I think of those times when it rains cats and dogs and my feet itched to go outside and play in the water but then I can't. I must act my age, all of sixteen years, and remain sedately seated inside tour walls. I feel happier then, as I stare outside the windows and see the three of us romping around in the rain again.

I can think of a thousand things we did together, memories I will always cherish. The quiet times when we sat together, huddled under the covers as we wondered what life had in store for us, promising each other that we would always be together. Our days were spent laughing, crying and sharing. My eleven years at Mount Hermon gave me much to remember and learn from. I cherish the moment I spent alone in the piano cells when both Tia and Mallika respected my need for privacy. I cherish the love they gave me for all time and the friendship they promised me for a lifetime, a promise kept. I remember how we adopted and adapted the Three Musketeers to the three mosquitoes and as time goes by and miles keep us apart still cherish the fact that we are "all for one and one for all one".

I cannot dissect our friendship in little slots, dividing which part I cherished more. I cannot say what means more to me our midnight feasts, our rain dances, our Green room forages, the secrets we shared or the homework we shamelessly circulated. Everything adds up to make a friendship, our friendship, unique.

I was sure, so sure, that the three of us would be friends forever. But friendship takes work if it isn't to fade into sepia-tinted nostalgia. I haven't met Mallika in over five years. We occasionally chat online but she has a husband, a baby and a life on a continent where time is a precious commodity. Tiakala, the first friend I made on my first day at boarding school, should now be a doctor. We haven't met since 1991.

We've grown up. Moved away, on, out. But time cannot cheat us of what we were—three friends dancing with abandon in the rain. I remember. With love always.