I text TR I love him, and he immediately rings me up thinking I’m planning to kill myself. I can’t help cracking up.
TR’s texts make me smile, and then laugh a little in that warm silly way we do when we feel the fierce glow of friendship emanating from someone. For all his frustrating ‘Sheldon-ness’ (TBBT reference), ridiculous self-praise, and the trying habit of weaving sex and condoms into the most random discussions “to fight against the stigma”, there is an odd sense of innocence and old-fashioned integrity about him that makes you refrain from murdering him. And then there are these moments when you absolutely love him for being a part of your precious circle.
This is the kind of relationship that can only arise from unnecessary conversations that run deep into the night, perhaps under the guise of studying together, when secrets spill from drinking a heady mix of moonlight and silences. There is a rare clarity that comes with sleeplessness juxtaposed against heavy night lights. We feel raw and infinite, and become willing accomplices in betraying our deep dark souls. And in doing so, forge unlikely bonds and bridges.
“Please don’t die”
It feels good to hear this from some people, even in jest. People who don’t necessarily gain anything in particular by having you stick around, who aren’t dependent on you in any way, whose existence doesn’t become an obligation for you to stay alive. Knowing there are people who wouldn’t want a you-shaped hole in the universe, just ’cause.
“Will talk tomorrow. Don’t worry, kal tak zinda rahungi.”
I’ll be alive till tomorrow anyway, I assure him, laughing.
Till tomorrow, and for weeks and years afterward, I hope; as long as I know there are people who vouch for a me-shaped existence, just ’cause.