On nights and friendships.

 

There is so much that happens in a year, oh, so much that changes over the course of a few months. It feels as if each night brings a change and each day is a new life. Yet, it is the same old life in so many ways. You get up on the same old bed, brush your same old teeth or don't, eat the same old breakfast or miss it, wear the same old clothes. Now, you might contradict me here, saying you wear new clothes at times, but you have already experienced wearing new clothes for the first time at some point in your life. The rest is a repetition of that experience, just like the rest of your life is a repetition of a repetition of a repetition that means nothing. Monotonous and meaningless.

There's so much that changes every year, and yet so much remains the same. I lost someone this year. Someone I held dear. Someone I spent too many nights with. Nights are special. Nights are somehow more intimate. As if it takes nights to trust each other and open up. The night unfolds conversation. We talk about distant fathers, problematic teachers, awkward dates, childhood love, and first crushes. Then there are stories of intoxications and intimacies, and about that particular uncle in every family. Then we talk about our favorite films and not-so-favorite films. There is so much one can talk about a film, from the favorite actor to the favorite poster of that film, from the favorite scene to directors and their peculiar habits, or habits in general. There is so much to talk about colors and why one tends to like one color over another, on our choices and the lack of them.

Then comes the music. Music that starts with a Bollywood item song and ends with ghazals. In between, music rolls around "Hey There Delilah" to "When I’m Gone" or all those songs by Harry Belafonte and Jim Croce. Nights were spent listening to Gulzar’s lyrics from "Mera Kuch Samaan" to "Yaraam." Nights were spent listening to the whole album of *Dil Se*. Nights were spent…

Alas, there are silences. Long, peaceful, comfortable silences. Silences that were spent sipping on wine and staring at the ceiling. Silences that were spent sharing a cigarette. Silences that were spent waiting for daylight.

Such are these sleepless nights that bring one closer to another.

Such nights have changed so much in me, and yet so much has remained intact. These days I make an active effort to change myself, for the better, of course. Though I often confuse myself with the idea of better. Nevertheless, I am trying in whatever way I can. I made an active effort to make friends. What a funny thing when I put it that way. Maybe I did make a friend or two, only if I don't delve too much into the idea of what friendship is. I did make a friend or two.

Friendship begins with nights again. Nights that were spent opening up on abusive mothers, controlling husbands and failed marriages. Nights that were spent opening up on sexual exploitations, betrayals and adulteries. Nights that were spent shedding tears and sharing hugs. 

People come and leave, leaving a mark of them, making a scar, making us what we are.