The words often associated with ecstasy, bringing back memories of a Pumba roaming vast expanses of savanna without a hint of worry, yet the meaning of these words change insidiously over time.

The tour de France with my batchmates from XL began on a memorable note, yet all memories aren't meant to be pleasant.

Along the walking ramp of Sacre Couer we were welcomed by those very words by a group of individuals, prominently in contrast with the backdrop of the marble monument. One could often mistake their smile as welcoming, but it was more than that, it was a gesture of friendship, so deep that it needed a social sanction of a wrist band.

Now as we are aware, travelling does help us make new friends, aeroplane co-passengers, fellow tourists, locals and of course if you are lucky some pretty girls. In this case though life was simpler, it was them who wanted to be friends almost desperately and naive as we were, despite a million internet warnings, we never knew friendship had a price outside Amsterdam.

Did we become friends? Well, the social sanction of the friendship that desolately stares back from my wallet, reminds me that I did make friends, probably helped someone in need but the charity was not wilfull which probably makes it an adventure, something unexpected, something that surprises you even in broad daylight.

Sacre Couer was a reminder once again, that though we have a choice to make enemies, friendship isn't as wilfull... Amidst the deepest crevices of our heart, it often sneaks past our defences, our desires to make friends overpowers our will to exist alone, taunts our sufficiency. The only variety you get is the mode of payment, sometimes it's with the heart, often times a wallet will suffice...

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