In that place, I was a ten year old who liked to play the leader of a pack of neighbourhood kids, all between eight to twelve year olds. Since I liked to take the lead, they simply followed, largely because it is so convenient to follow anyone who looks like he/she is in command, even though the reality may be different.
There was a quiet, petite and a very pretty girl in that pack called Javeria Farooqui. If I was not a witness to it, I would not have believed that she would have joined this gang of unruly, noisy children, simply because she had class written all over her small frame. Placid eyes, calm demeanour and long, black silky hair.
The moment Javeria said her first ‘hello’to me, she adored me. I wonder why. We were as different as chalk and cheese. But we became great friends, nevertheless.
While I was like a storm waiting to erupt with new ideas and schemes all the time, she was like a placid lake, absorbing and transforming them into beautiful results silently.
One fine day during summer holidays , I decided to get all the kids together and direct a Shakespeare play ''Merchant of Venice''. The idea was lapped up eagerly by everyone and we started practising day and night, in feverish anticipation for the big day. Costumes were made, invitations to all parents sent out and a terrace was chosen as the venue. Finally, the big day arrived and after counting minutes, it was finally time to run home to get ready for the play.
I remember running home after the last practice, wearing torn dungarees and my old school shirt, my heart pounding. It was MY day – I was the director, writer, the lead actor and the organiser of the event. It just HAD to go well. Behind me, ran some of my helpers who had to make sure that I was dressed for the event, in some sort of a communal honour bestowed to their leader.
When I reached my home, I could not believe what I saw ! A big lock ! As it came out later, my grandmother was sick and my mother had to rush to her side urgently. She had had no time to tell me about it and I had anyway been out the whole day. My father had gone to drop her at the railway station.
My heart plummeted to the ground. Home locked ! Costume locked ! Parents away ! My play starting in forty-five minutes ! Suddenly the world became very dark and tears sprang to my eyes. However, I blinked those tears away – the kids should not see their leader crying. I put on a brave face and said ‘Never mind. This dress is good enough. I don’t need to change. Why don’t all of you go home and change yourself ? I shall wait for you at the venue’’
The kids scattered and went home, while I sat outside my locked home, trying to tell myself that Shylock in torn dungarees would not look bad at all. It’s the histrionics that matter, not the costume and so on. But I was crushed, nonetheless. I was lonely. All my so called friends had deserted me, running to their homes to change. I was very, very disappointed.
As I made my way slowly to the venue after some ten minutes, I heard someone shouting my name. When I looked back, I saw a small shape hurtling towards me.
It was Javeria.
She had a long, red coat in her hand. I stared at her in a state of shock as she stopped near me, panting. ‘I came to know about your mummy going away and locking in your costume. Look, I got another one. Here is your costume, Sujata ! I got it from my mother. Go on ! Change ! Its going to be time soon !’
It was a beautiful crimson red coat, velvet and lace, just right for Shylock. It was much better than even her own costume. As we stood there, she handing me that coat and me taking it from her hands, I smiled with tears in my eyes and said ‘Thank you, Javeria’.
She did not say anything. She just smiled that calm smile. Friendship does not need words. It just needs a gesture. A gesture that haunts me even after all those years. A gesture that makes me feel that despite all the hatred and anger, friendship still grows like a fragile wildflower under a rock, blooming in fierce storms, protected by an unknown blessing.
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