My WhatsApp is buzzing continuously and Facebook newsfeed is choking with COVID stories from back home. For some time I managed to hold myself together, but the news of losing one of my classmates to COVID last week broke me. He was only 42.
I spent the next 24 hours going through old albums, a stash of greeting cards and letters — and memories. It was a roller coaster of emotions. I smiled one minute, sobbed the next. There were memories that we were able to share as a group. Photos from school days, for example, triggered those-were-the-days kind of conversations. Then there were our collective recollections of just what a great guy and a wonderful friend he was.
But there were also memories that were personal. Those that made the grief hard to process. For these were combined with a sense of guilt. Of the realisation that it’s too late to make amends.
This person was my best buddy. We got along really well when we were in school, kept in touch through university days and beyond. He was back in hometown Delhi after a stint in the US around the same time as my separation and divorce. He was one of the people in my life that built me up during that difficult time. He made me feel good about myself — even attractive and desirable. He took me to parties, clubs, long drives, movies, to restaurants I would have never known of — in short, gave me a taste of things that I would have not done by myself — certainly not at that time. He was one of my ‘just a call away’ friends.
We spent hours talking on the phone — many a times through the night, hanging up only because we had to get to work. Then catching up where we left, in the evening. We talked about everything, discussed goals and plans — even each other’s wedding. Where to shop, what to wear, what would be on the menu.
Years went by. We were both still single. And we decided to be ‘friends with benefits’— thinking neither of us were in any rush to get married so why not be there for each other. But that didn’t end well. Within a few months, he gave in to the pressure from his family and agreed to an arranged marriage. He dropped the news on me one afternoon — on my week off. He was to be married the following month.
That was it. I felt cheated. I think I felt betrayed more as a friend than as a ‘girlfriend’. It hurt so much that I thought I would die (the irony is not lost on me!) I spent three sleepless nights crying helplessly. Two friends spent those few days with me just to make sure I was okay. I finally came out on the other side and decided not to shed another tear for him.
I ‘unfriended’ him on Facebook. And didn’t keep in touch after that call. He called, texted, emailed on a daily basis, then weekly and monthly... but I didn’t respond, except twice. I congratulated him when he sent me his wedding card and then two years later, sent my best wishes when he told me that he had a daughter, adding I was the first friend he was sharing the news with.
Years passed. We moved on, I remarried, relocated to another country and the episode became just another of life’s experiences. Even though we were part of the classmates WhatsApp group, we never talked. I missed him as a friend I could share anything and everything with, just a call away friend. In the last few years I have often thought that it’s foolish and I should call him the next time I am in Delhi and clear the air. But it’s too late now. And I cried again when I said I wouldn’t.
I am the kind of person that shares her joys and sorrows with everyone. Talking helps me to process my emotions. But that day I didn’t want to talk, except with a few friends who we shared special memories with. There was another person I talked to — my husband. He patiently listened as I spoke aloud. I shared some of my favourite memories — a surprise birthday party, a night drive in Delhi doing things I had never done before, including parking by the airport watching planes take off.
Other thoughts frightened me. Did he die gasping for oxygen? Will his wife who also had COVID make it? How will his family cope? Some of it was erratic, probably even incoherent. But my husband listened, wiping my tears and comforting me when I was overcome with emotions.
The realisation that my friend will never meet my husband nor will I ever get to know his wife or child is painful. I wish I could turn back the clock. I wish I could speak to my friend one last time. But memories is all I have.
The writer wishes to remain anonymous
