But in truth, when it comes to letting things go, he does that with style.
And he never ever thinks twice.
We used to run away together in the dead of the night. Over endless cups of tea at an all-night stall near a hospital, we would sometimes sit and pour our hearts out.
This story is about him. A boy. Much younger than me, yet with a world’s weariness and pain which makes him much older than me in experience.
This story is about my best friend, who was there for me when the world was not.
It was a day in May when my cousin died. He was 18. He had ataxia but otherwise he was quite sound in the mind. He loved me as much as I loved him, and he was quite brilliant in his studies. With stars in his eyes, he wanted to study science.
It was in May when I knew he was gone from me. His heart had a hole which grew in time, and he did not complain of it because he thought it was nothing. By the time he was admitted to the hospital it was too late for him. The doctors did not help. As he had ataxia, he was somehow categorized in the mentally challenged section.
It was a day in May when he died.
His heart gave up.
And all my relatives and my parents could say was how much of a relief it was for the parents, that their unnatural child was gone.
I hated them. I hated the world. I hated humanity.
I was crying all evening. And then my best friend called up all of a sudden.
He somehow knew. I had told no one, but somehow he knew.
And he told me that he would come. It was 1.30 in the night, and he did. He helped me out of my house, and took me away from that house.
And he held me while I wept. He did not mind that my tears were wetting his shirt. All he did was sit and let me cry.
And when it was over, he held out a cigarette and a cup of tea and told me to drink it.
I had never been more grateful to see them.
That night, I knew that I had a good man in my life. No matter what, I had that. And it made my life worth living.