#Together With Friends

This is a story of a time when poetry had left me. Poetry to me the color on life's canvas, the salt in a dish without which everything is tasteless no matter what you add. My grandfather was that inspiration in my life. He always believed in me. He always thought I was better than all children and I had started believing that. He would give me a chocolate every day, and on Sundays got me sweets, every Sunday a different one. He would read to me stories that motivated me to be a good person. He had been a freedom fighter and to me he is the symbol of sacrifice. First a family for the country then serves as a doctor in a small village, when he could easily migrate to a city and earn better. Developing the village he lived in and uplifting the quality of life there, rather than fighting for one. Not remarrying after wife’s death. Working twelve hours each day even when he was more than eighty years of age and spending all his free time with grand children (us). Losing a person like that is like a scar. I was no more the princess, I once was. I was more close to him than my parents and his loss was greatest felt by me than by any other person and I still feel it.

Poetry however was my expression of my soul. Somehow when he passed away I was so shocked I couldn't express myself on paper as I had been able to before and this was detrimental to me for I love the written word and it makes me lighter when words pour out my heart on a paper. But this time I couldn't. My friends told me I was becoming an introvert from an extrovert that I had been and that was something even I felt. I just couldn't express myself even if would sit with a pen and a paper for hours. 

My best friend had decided to do her Masters in the US and so she was away, busy and suddenly one day a phone call from her lit me up a little. She had decided to take a break and she was coming to India. She felt deep within she should see me, call it telepathy. I didn't think much, just booked the first weekend tickets available to see her.  She looked the same, US couldn't affect her one micron and the girl was as always in high spirit. I had gone to her city to visit her, so we decided to do everything we did in our BSc days, have the "cutting chai", sit for hours at tea stall and talk, about everything under the sun and yes explore all the food possible.

I was silent initially but then she started slowly un-wrapping the cover around me and I started telling her how I really felt. She then told me about all that she had written in the past year. She is a great poet, I sometimes wish I was her, one that pushes themselves hard into tragic characters and then cry hard for an alternate reality, only to sleep over it and realize that it was her imagination. The passion is undoubtedly infectious and while listening to her talk and her poetry somewhere between sips of tea in an instant I found myself smiling and so did she notice a change in me.

I had only two days holiday and it was the time to bid good bye too soon. She gifted me my first Harry Potter goodies and a diary that said “express yourself” which is always by my bedside, ready to be scribbled on. Yes the pages are now inked and that's what a best friends company after ages can do to you.

https://housing.com/ helps you find new friends for life. To start a new life at a new place and find your own microcosm just click here : https://housing.com/ 

You can also watch this video which speaks about everything they do: