You lose friends in life. That is how everything shapes up. Probably, that is how we grow up. Losing friends, family, love. Sometimes, a friend, who's family. Sometimes, family, who were friends.
Most of the times, you have to move on. Because, being part of humankind in the 21st Century, you have to accustom yourself to loss. Rather, when you make an acquaintance which has the potential to grow into friendship and/or more, you subconsciously decree that it has to end some day.
I've been called a man out of my time. No, I do not hate my generation and the immediate next. Nor do I hate my preceding generation. Times inevitably change. Norms, customs change with time. Without ado and no further digression, let me talk about the person, I am typing this for. I hope he reads this and knows I miss him. As I said, I am a man out of time, and how unfitting of me, I cannot move on from certain faces and identities to go on to live life with no regrets.
I met Aritro Roy, when I just got into Calcutta Cacophony. He was already a budding photographer there. In every true sense, budding. He showed tremendous potential, often overlooked. He was ready to work. He had dedication. But I wasn't his friend because he was a budding photographer, or because we both supported the German football team. I became friends with Aritro because he had a heart. He had a passionate heart. He wanted to learn, he wanted to be friends, he wanted to love, he wanted to be a good man. And I could only learn of these qualities from this boy, who just got into college, ambitious about History. Soon enough, we had shared our experiences in academics and love over coffee and cigarettes. I remember him being a child and crushing the mint ball in the cigarette filter and ruining it for me. We walked, and talked about love, Communism, food, and existential paralysis. There came a time, when his lovely home at Mahamaya Lane, off Kalighat Road became my home and I spent hours and days over at his place, looking at high tides of Aadi Ganga sweeping the streets off from his stately rooftop. I remember us fighting over ball control over FIFA, and remember our immense dedication towards Call of Duty. I remember him taking pictures of me with my harmonica (and suggesting to use it to impress women). I remember his stupid AK-47 replica, held together with a red string. I remember him crying over unrequited love. I remember him laughing over how he momentarily triumphed this lack of reciprocation. Aritro had become a brother, in every true sense. A younger brother, I always dreamed of having. I finally had a friend, who was family. I knew he'd be by me in times I was in adversity. I knew he would find me in dire circumstances. I could be my uninhibited self with Aritro. I could talk about regular life with him. I could tell him if I was hurt by someone. I could tell him if I liked somebody. And he'd be interested, genuinely. He was my genuine person.
And then suddenly, it was gone. Not a single slice of our very regular brotherly drama remained. I recognized the moment we parted ways, readily, as it dawned. Tense circumstances. Strained emotions. And I quit on Aritro. I have always being someone who lets go and regrets later. I did. I do. Whatever I am writing, only asks you to be more patient, kind readers. Don't let go easy. Do not let go of a person like Aritro. A person, with a straight backbone, with an honest heart.
Aritro has grown to be a very successful independent photographer. He has been featured on famous Instagram handles (and how mesmerizing is his own Instagram handle). From a distance, I am proud. And I feel, he is happy. And if he is, I am. I wish him all the success in life. And I am sure, he'll scale tremendous heights and I hope he achieves more and more. And, I hope, someday, we'll meet and brush differences aside. I worry about him at times. Because, like me, I guess he still isn't one who moves on seamlessly.
Most of the times, you have to move on. Because, being part of humankind in the 21st Century, you have to accustom yourself to loss. Rather, when you make an acquaintance which has the potential to grow into friendship and/or more, you subconsciously decree that it has to end some day.
I've been called a man out of my time. No, I do not hate my generation and the immediate next. Nor do I hate my preceding generation. Times inevitably change. Norms, customs change with time. Without ado and no further digression, let me talk about the person, I am typing this for. I hope he reads this and knows I miss him. As I said, I am a man out of time, and how unfitting of me, I cannot move on from certain faces and identities to go on to live life with no regrets.
I met Aritro Roy, when I just got into Calcutta Cacophony. He was already a budding photographer there. In every true sense, budding. He showed tremendous potential, often overlooked. He was ready to work. He had dedication. But I wasn't his friend because he was a budding photographer, or because we both supported the German football team. I became friends with Aritro because he had a heart. He had a passionate heart. He wanted to learn, he wanted to be friends, he wanted to love, he wanted to be a good man. And I could only learn of these qualities from this boy, who just got into college, ambitious about History. Soon enough, we had shared our experiences in academics and love over coffee and cigarettes. I remember him being a child and crushing the mint ball in the cigarette filter and ruining it for me. We walked, and talked about love, Communism, food, and existential paralysis. There came a time, when his lovely home at Mahamaya Lane, off Kalighat Road became my home and I spent hours and days over at his place, looking at high tides of Aadi Ganga sweeping the streets off from his stately rooftop. I remember us fighting over ball control over FIFA, and remember our immense dedication towards Call of Duty. I remember him taking pictures of me with my harmonica (and suggesting to use it to impress women). I remember his stupid AK-47 replica, held together with a red string. I remember him crying over unrequited love. I remember him laughing over how he momentarily triumphed this lack of reciprocation. Aritro had become a brother, in every true sense. A younger brother, I always dreamed of having. I finally had a friend, who was family. I knew he'd be by me in times I was in adversity. I knew he would find me in dire circumstances. I could be my uninhibited self with Aritro. I could talk about regular life with him. I could tell him if I was hurt by someone. I could tell him if I liked somebody. And he'd be interested, genuinely. He was my genuine person.
And then suddenly, it was gone. Not a single slice of our very regular brotherly drama remained. I recognized the moment we parted ways, readily, as it dawned. Tense circumstances. Strained emotions. And I quit on Aritro. I have always being someone who lets go and regrets later. I did. I do. Whatever I am writing, only asks you to be more patient, kind readers. Don't let go easy. Do not let go of a person like Aritro. A person, with a straight backbone, with an honest heart.
Aritro has grown to be a very successful independent photographer. He has been featured on famous Instagram handles (and how mesmerizing is his own Instagram handle). From a distance, I am proud. And I feel, he is happy. And if he is, I am. I wish him all the success in life. And I am sure, he'll scale tremendous heights and I hope he achieves more and more. And, I hope, someday, we'll meet and brush differences aside. I worry about him at times. Because, like me, I guess he still isn't one who moves on seamlessly.
I finished reading it at 9:49. Stared at the blinking cursor for past few minutes and finally, I have decided I shouldn't comment. It's my 'unspoken word'. Hope that your hope comes true. :)
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