Mitr

Yesterday, I met a very old friend of mine. Him and I, we go a long way. I’ve known him ever since I first came to Thane. No words of introduction were exchanged between us. A mere smile from him, I smiled back and a bond was struck. Since then, every time I’ve spotted him, the customary “hi and handshake” have followed.

It’s always wonderful to meet this friend of mine (if he can be rightfully called so). The point of encounter has always been the same. Never once has the place changed, although the time of the day may vary, subject to his availability at the spot. The rendezvous is seldom planned. We’ve never spoken for more than a maximum of four minutes, without ever crossing the mark of a 20-word vocabulary in those precious moments.

He looks just the same even after all these years. Besides having put on a few welcome kilos, changes I could make out none. His attire as always, the humble pant and shirt, nothing to write home about. Funny, since so much seems to have transpired in my life; yet with him it’s as if time prefers to preserve than meddle much.

When I met him, he was at his usual occupation, rather pastime. Standing at the bend of the road which leads to his house, daily he spends time looking about the busy street, chatting with nobody in particular and generally amusing himself with the sights and sounds around. I am guessing (although I am wary of assuming things) this is the sole source of entertainment that he has.

With him, I have never ventured into territories that ere haven’t been trodden upon. I haven’t asked more about him, his family, his whereabouts, etc. Neither has he of me. It is better that way. That’s how this relationship is. This is the foundation of our companionship; asking too many questions might just upset the balance. And that’s the reason why I don’t have much to write about him. But only that he is an invalid of our society; the system which gives credence only to those physically and mentally “normal”.

He is slightly mentally-challenged (although I am not the right judge for it medically or otherwise), but in no way that makes him any less smart than you and I. If he could deduce in not more than the three-minute encounter of ours that I have shifted from Mumbai and am married, it surely means that he recognizes me and has also noticed my absence from the scene. Isn’t that common sense enough (especially when so many of us are bereft of it inspite of our biologically sound brains)? Nevertheless, he is what we, the privileged descendants of a “normal society”, loosely and without much thought term as “mad”.

There’s not more to continue with, except that he is special (mind you, I do not pity him or foster any such feelings for him.) That special someone who has in some way, at some time helped mould my identity into what I am today. So, this is about my mitr. A friend who is without name, because I’ve never asked him and never thought it mattered.