That Hug!

--This true story is a tribute to my childhood school friend whom I could never forget. 

I don't know why I am writing this stuff or what kind of emotions it is going to generate in the hearts of the readers, but since I have started documenting my emotions and memories, I could not let this particular event of my life just pass. I have been harboring this in my writer’s mind, waiting for an appropriate occasion or a platform to share with my possible readers. Life is nothing but a chain of events - some big, some small, some connected and understandable, some absolutely disconnected and completely inexplicable. The big ones surely affect our lives and their outcomes get imprinted on our hearts and minds; however, there are many smaller events which though leave significant impacts on us, yet tend to evaporate into nothingness just due to the hustle and bustle of life, or at least get weakened in their effects. But sometimes a few incidents tear you so much apart that you just cannot get rid of them, especially when they are part of your delicate childhood memories. 

The first period of the sixth standard had just begun. Almost a month into the new academic year, things were not as serious yet at the school. I still very vividly remember, it was the first day of August 1977 with heavy rain, occasional thunderbolts, and dark black clouds overcast, producing an effect of twilight. He approached the class and sought permission in a sickly feeble voice.

“May.. may I come... in sir..?”

Standing at the door was a fairly handsome boy, accompanied by his father, in our school’s customary uniform with the full-sleeve navy blue sweater on. Unfortunately the bare portions of his limbs clearly announced him to be severely anemic. He was as yellow as turmeric and as thin as a spoke of a wheel. I was sitting on the front bench.

 “What a pity,” I thought.

“Yes, please come in!” Mr. Parker signaled both of them to come in. “Students! This is Raman, new to our class, please welcome him and try to be friends with him. He is quite good at studies.” The class teacher made him sit beside me on the front bench. Suddenly his father approached me and spoke something to me in his own regional language, which I could not grasp even a bit. I kept listening to him with confused looks.

“Beta (son), please take care of him and make him your friend.” Finally he spoke something that I could understand, and then he left the class. At that moment, the immature child inside me could not realize, but now after so many decades with some understanding of life in my head, whenever I visualize his persona, that body language of a defeated, broken, and hopeless person shakes me up even now. 

During the recess, the whole class formally received Raman and after a very brief “Hi-Hello” thing, all dispersed for their lunch break, leaving the two of us alone.

Just to start a conversation, I asked, “No lunchbox?”

“No, actually I only eat under the supervision of my parents because of my disease, also I have a lot of food restrictions,” he replied sincerely.

“What about you?” he asked me back.

This was a tough question for me to answer. Those who knew me never asked me that. “I have no mother, she died when I was three! We cook for ourselves and take only two square meals a day,” I replied. Though never wanting to answer that in such detail, probably his sincerity and genuine curiosity made me disclose that in one long gasp of breath. His hand went on my shoulder and he pinned his eyes into mine with honest friendliness. Suddenly I felt smaller due to the guilt of having pity feelings for a boy who in fact did not need any sympathy, rather he was showing empathy towards me for my family situation. The seed of friendship was germinated on that very day.

“Let us go downstairs, I will show you our school; the washroom is also on the ground floor,” I proposed. Though he did not seem very enthusiastic about it, yet he agreed. This was the first time in the day I watched him walk. He was very sluggish and unsteady on his feet, in fact I had to hold him with one hand. It felt so bad to me that I decisively promised myself to be his caretaker in the guise of a friend. Our friendship became our routine. I held his hand and we walked up and down stairs, strolled around the playground during the half-hour recess. Every day at the end of the school, while going home I ensured that he reached home safe. I secretly started feeling that suddenly I had grown up so much with taking that responsibility. I too was a good student, so generally we talked about studies, or sometimes about movies. Those days, watching a movie a month was considered to be a great score. We used to ruminate on the same story until the next visit to the theater.

Then came the festival breaks. In India, schools used to be closed in October-November for roughly 21 days to celebrate victory of good over evil (Dussehra) and festival of lights (Diwali). We parted for the break with lots of promises to meet and play, etc. The plan was that I would be going to his house every day to meet and play with him. I kept my promise for almost a week, but then, I don't remember exactly why, I could not meet him for many days. Of course, as a child, you don’t have control over all your commitments!

Just two days before reopening of the school, at around 10 a.m., I received a message that I was called by the principal immediately, all teachers and a few other students were also gathering, and probably something happened! With only a little anxiety, nothing specific in mind, I rushed to the school. After seeing me, the principal caught hold of me and broke the news sadly. Raman was no more! We all were going to his house for condolences, and his father specifically wanted to see me. I felt like my soul also departed along with Raman’s, shockingly unbelievable! I mean we all knew he was sick, but I never imagined him leaving us forever. It was too much of a burden for the child inside me to handle and bear. I remember I started crying. I don't recall much of the series of the events after that. However, what I very vividly remember, rather could never forget for my whole life, was the hug his father gave me. The moment he saw me, he pulled me, hugged me tightly, and cried like a baby (probably like Raman, trying to replace him in order to console me!). “He always talked about you, he missed you all these days, why didn’t you come beta, why..?” He definitely was not demanding an answer from me, neither was he complaining, I understood that much. It was my first encounter with death and losing someone so close. It was hard for me to come out of that shock. I slowly left the room without a word and started walking towards home. Every single moment spent with him was flashing like a film in front of my eyes. I remembered him saying once, “They say I won’t go long, I am worried about my father.”

“Come on Raman, don't say that, you will be alright,” I had brushed that aside very casually.

I never knew he was right!