How We Spent Our Days.

I had a girl in my neighbourhood once. We lived adjacent to each other. We also went to the same school, in the same school bus. Each afternoon we returned home together, and in the evening went out to ride our respective bicycles together. Nothing was surprising in that occuring.

We were friends, but we weren't too fond of us each other. In fact on several occassions I would come home and complain to my mom about how she tried to act smarter, or cheated in games, or stole my hairclips in the school bus. And each time, mom would diligently calm my juvenile worries. She probably did the same to her mom, when she fell down the bicycle and I rode ahead, instead of helping her get up. We often played these petty wicked revenge games with each other.

And then one day I came to know that she was shifting from the neighbourhood. Her dad had been transferred to another city. She was to leave in a week's time. Each day that week, we would be trucks being loaded with packed belongings. The house was bustling with shifting activities; the door was mostly open, with boys rushing in and out carrying carton boxes and what not.

She barely came out to play in that week. Her bicycle had been transported along with other belongings. One day, when I knew she wasn't at home, I peeped in through the rot iron door- the house was vacant. All belongings had been shifted, except ones of bare necessity. The slightest of voice would echo in such a house. That afternoon I realised, how much I was fond of her. I was missing her already. Thinking of how she wouldn't be accompanying me in the school bus now, or ride along on the bicycle in evenings almost made me cry. She was my closest friend. We fought each day, only to meet again next morning and go to school together.

I went home. And no matter how clichéd it might sound now, made a card for her. I even scribbled something that probably was an emotional outburst. Went to her place in the evening and gave it. She was happy to receive it. Her mom fed us with biscuits.

Funnily, neither of us felt the awkwardness of how we disliked each other, in absence of the other. While together, we were normal. As if nothing had happened. Probably nobody thinks of awkwardness or discomfort at that age. Emotional outbursts are momentary. We get over things faster. She went away. We grew up. Though we hardly kept in touch on a regular basis, I heard about her family occassionally from my parents.

And each time I thought of her, I smiled at the sheer simplicity of our childhood.