Art of Living and You

Hi all. So what if I don't know to blog? I have come on the block. Oh! No, this is not me telling. You know I was pushed into blogging when I just became aware of the word. And the words above are the generous advice of that pusher. He is a friend of long standing. If I have to blame him, I have to blame for reasons that are countless. You know he is such an affable fella and a friendly devil kinda guy that you can't blame him even when you want to. Secretly I confessed to the fact that for many things I am today, he is the person that can take credit.

After all why should he do it to me or is he just kind to me alone? He is a couple of years older than I. he was a form ahead of me in school too. He, as I know was the most bubly and chirpy guy as a school boy. Oh! My...he was talking from anything to every thing though the topics naturally were limited to our age bound world. The games, dresses he had purchased from his pocket money and that blue skirt of our teacher. I did really enjoy the moments he used to narrate all these in his inimitable style, sometimes exaggerating sometiimes in an emotional voice. I don't remember disliking or objecting to anything except for that one day when he described the length of his teacher's legs. I was a bit frieghtened as I protested. He laughed at me first and then just switched over.

He was not like it as I knew. This thing bugged me all night long. I can't express what exactly I should call the thoghts that crawled my mind. But it is also true that appreciation for him surfaced strongly. But it never occured to me that he was growing up. Or was he grown up already?

More than anything else what brought me to adore him was his integrity. For some reason or the other I could not go to school or play without him. With him by my side, I felt safer always. He made fun off me, ragged me. But as always, his pranks showed me I had to grow more.

Now, in retrospect I think of him. He is coming back to our town after 32 years. They moved south after he finished high school. Later he called me to tell he had to give up further schooling for pursuing some job. He married a southerner taller than his own self. He built a home there and grew mango trees all around. This brings an incidence back to memory. In the mango season, while returning from school, we had to pass by a mangrove. And there was a hefty watchman gaurduing it. But my friend was all too clever for him. He used to yell and coo standing infront of the gate as if somebody else was trying to thieve mangoes and he wanted to alert the watchman. My friend was so quick to sense if the watchman wasn't around when he didn't turn up immediately. He would dash in, in big strides and whew.. would pluck a few mangoes. Always more for him and one or two for me. I didn't dare ask why.



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