On Probation
I didn’t know…
It was one of those days in summer, where the sun had been unbearable to a point where it dispirited the heart and made it look like nothing substantial or interesting could further happen in the day. But some things happen, unfurl, and arrive, irrespective of the mood the weather sets. I had met a new person on one of these unbearably sunny days, a person with whom I spent a lot of time in the coming days, a person who turned into a friend as delightfully as a jelly would wobble and as smoothly as butter would melt.
We chatted frequently, told stories of the past and the present, and exchanged a few side glances and a few philosophies on life and a few insecurities and aspirations. A few months into the unprecedented and unanticipated bonding, I was optimistic that this friendship would last beyond my set thresholds of relationship lifetimes, irrespective of the divergent paths that our futures could easily carve. I was confident that our exchanges were honest to the core because they were for me and that if, in any case, a pothole arises on the road of our little journey, we will together manoeuvre our ways to overcome the same.
With time we hit a few bumps. There were arguments — heated and mild. There were disagreements — explicit and implicit. There were disappointments — little ones and problematic ones. Although, the bumps didn’t matter. The debates, the blows, the bumps were immediately or with a delay, sorted and placed in the back corner of our heads. For me, some lingered shamelessly in my mind, some others drifted with time, while others I had to let go of due to my underlying friendship principles. Although, it didn’t matter because everything was sorted.
For me, the journey, the bond, the friendship was back on track and spearheading into happiness and joy, into the skies, and tales of stars. It was a continuation, an amalgamation of the times between the bumps, an acceptance of the bumps and their effects, and an obliviousness to their indelible imprints.
Of the numerous trajectories of life where I could have fallen, I fell into an unknown well where I needed immense support and courage. I had sufficient courage, and I thought I could garner support from the friend. I screeched and updated my friend about my fall and naturally expected the friend to launch a rescue mission instantly. There were assurances, and comforting peeks into the well where I had fallen. The well was dry and round and lined with filthy mosses. The well was disapproving and suffocating and lined with empty assurances.
I expected tremendously, I waited impatiently, and I wailed incessantly. It seemed the round walls had started moving closer. It appeared the circular sunny exit had started moving farther. Soon, the peeks reduced in frequency, and I became tired of asking. Soon, the round walls began turning into a display of suppressed bumps. The lingered ones were overjoyed with their stand, the drifted ones were surprised after joining back, and the ones who were let go based on principles felt guilty, shaken, and misled.
After an ungauged amount of turmoil and time, I managed to climb out of the wretched well. I wished to talk and complain and describe, but the friend was nowhere in near sight. The friend was far away, on a path, on the road, which would never lead back to the well. I stood alone and watched as the friend transformed into a blob. I stood alone and watched as I remembered how unbearable the day had been, the day I met the friend. I stood alone and watched.
