Today I'm going to talk about Monkey.
He has always been there. Existing in my memory for as long as I could remember, then lost among the abundant memories. When I was a kid, and in this trap town for five years, he was there.
I remember some memories. Remembered some, some came back to me as he narrated them. There were the times when we used to go to music class together. We've been beating each other since then. He used to boast then, as he does now. And he used to be politically correct in boasting then, as he is now.
There are sprinkles.
There was a competition in Sugam Park, 'Paint a village scene'; he won. I remember being in awe of him. Around the same time, we had a singing bout together. It was the time of the Durga Puja, and as usual, with the festivities in Sugam Park, there were the performances. It was epic, I remember it too well because I was singing so horribly my echoing voice could be heard as a screech and I had never ever been more embarrassed in my life. He was quite good.
Then, there was the play.
There was a Hindi play we'd been preparing for. Aunt Lily had been preparing us for it. It was, I suppose, a play about a thief who sneaks away or gets caught. I don't remember exactly, except that in that, Monkey was Mr. Chatterjee and I was Mrs. Chatterjee. And Rishabh, Monkey's friend here in Sugam Park, was the thief. It was fun preparing for the play, because I remember my childish version chiding him, trying to tell him how boasting wasn't a good thing. He didn't listen to me, obviously. Never has, and I thank him for that. We used to fight a lot, and even on the stage we were expected to fight. No matter, I did my role well. He had red lipstick on him. I have a photo of that.
I remember a fight we had during this time. I remember it too clearly because the details have been etched in my mind, because back then I thought I'd been doing some great act of daring. He was atop the stairs near the gym on Ananda. I was down on the ground. He was saying how, 'Garden High is the best school in the world', and I was saying, 'G.D. Birla is the best school in the world'. It was childish, we, were childish, and our points of argument were mainly media coverage and Which Famous Actor/Actress has Visited Our School. But of course, neither of us was willing to give up.
Then he said, "Our school's name was published in the newspaper!"
I don't know how, but my 8 year old self appeared scandalized by that piece of news.
"The NEWSPAPER!?"
"Yes," oh how the Monkey was grinning, "Now you say."
"I don't believe you."
"You have to. It's the truth."
"I STILL don't believe you!"
This went on for a while.
Then he offered me to go ask his mum for verification of his words. Of course, when people, or kids make such threats or offers, they don't actually mean for you to accept or follow them. But I did.
Long after he went, in fact now I remember it was days after this argument, and I marched up to his house, rung the bell. His mum answered and I asked her whether his school's name had been published in the newspaper or not. And she said, "Yes, it has been." And I was trapped because- a. I had lost a point. I had lost the argument (even though G.D. Birla is better; I just couldn't argue) and b. I didn't know what to do next. Just keep staring at his mum, or walk in. I think he was standing behind his mum and he made some wild gesture of satisfaction at my defeat. I think I left.
His house is right next to me. Just like how IX B and IX A are apart, the same distance could be said for our houses.
I went to his thread ceremony. I didn't know this, he told me about it only after he saw me in his video.
And I also remember looking down my window, whenever he was shouting at someone or playing with his dog, because I remember being in awe of him.
And then we left Kolkata for 3 years. I remembered him for a while, but then forgot.
Now we're back. And I know him better than many people.
Of course, his friends in his class know him better, but still. It feels as if though he has so many friends, my significance is immediately diminished.
What people fail to understand about my childhood friend is that, even though he might come across as a huge pain in the ass, he is still nice. Wonderful, in fact. I've lost count of the number of times he has saved me. He made me come out of my shell. It was my own doing, of course, he helped me in places. In the bus. At home.
When I talk to him, when he talks to me, I could freeze that moment and exist in it forever because then it actually feels like I've got a good friend. We might not have common interests (no surprise there, most of the people in my life don't; R's a wonderful exception though) but we look out for each other, and that's what matters.
He is passionate about his guitar. It's wonderful seeing him talk about his guitar, he gets so hyper. He is a good person, because he looks out for others in a way they won't look out for themselves, and he tries to fill that void for everyone.
I get sad when he gets angry at me. Because then he won't accept my apology and he remains angry at me for a long time. It's only over when he's in a good mood. And that's not good, because I remain tense for this while.
Ah, Monkey is one of the few remaining people I've gotten really attached to. He knows what he wants, and he goes after it. Let me tell you, his relationship with his parents and friends is worth being written down in books.
He has always been there. Existing in my memory for as long as I could remember, then lost among the abundant memories. When I was a kid, and in this trap town for five years, he was there.
I remember some memories. Remembered some, some came back to me as he narrated them. There were the times when we used to go to music class together. We've been beating each other since then. He used to boast then, as he does now. And he used to be politically correct in boasting then, as he is now.
There are sprinkles.
There was a competition in Sugam Park, 'Paint a village scene'; he won. I remember being in awe of him. Around the same time, we had a singing bout together. It was the time of the Durga Puja, and as usual, with the festivities in Sugam Park, there were the performances. It was epic, I remember it too well because I was singing so horribly my echoing voice could be heard as a screech and I had never ever been more embarrassed in my life. He was quite good.
Then, there was the play.
There was a Hindi play we'd been preparing for. Aunt Lily had been preparing us for it. It was, I suppose, a play about a thief who sneaks away or gets caught. I don't remember exactly, except that in that, Monkey was Mr. Chatterjee and I was Mrs. Chatterjee. And Rishabh, Monkey's friend here in Sugam Park, was the thief. It was fun preparing for the play, because I remember my childish version chiding him, trying to tell him how boasting wasn't a good thing. He didn't listen to me, obviously. Never has, and I thank him for that. We used to fight a lot, and even on the stage we were expected to fight. No matter, I did my role well. He had red lipstick on him. I have a photo of that.
I remember a fight we had during this time. I remember it too clearly because the details have been etched in my mind, because back then I thought I'd been doing some great act of daring. He was atop the stairs near the gym on Ananda. I was down on the ground. He was saying how, 'Garden High is the best school in the world', and I was saying, 'G.D. Birla is the best school in the world'. It was childish, we, were childish, and our points of argument were mainly media coverage and Which Famous Actor/Actress has Visited Our School. But of course, neither of us was willing to give up.
Then he said, "Our school's name was published in the newspaper!"
I don't know how, but my 8 year old self appeared scandalized by that piece of news.
"The NEWSPAPER!?"
"Yes," oh how the Monkey was grinning, "Now you say."
"I don't believe you."
"You have to. It's the truth."
"I STILL don't believe you!"
This went on for a while.
Then he offered me to go ask his mum for verification of his words. Of course, when people, or kids make such threats or offers, they don't actually mean for you to accept or follow them. But I did.
Long after he went, in fact now I remember it was days after this argument, and I marched up to his house, rung the bell. His mum answered and I asked her whether his school's name had been published in the newspaper or not. And she said, "Yes, it has been." And I was trapped because- a. I had lost a point. I had lost the argument (even though G.D. Birla is better; I just couldn't argue) and b. I didn't know what to do next. Just keep staring at his mum, or walk in. I think he was standing behind his mum and he made some wild gesture of satisfaction at my defeat. I think I left.
His house is right next to me. Just like how IX B and IX A are apart, the same distance could be said for our houses.
I went to his thread ceremony. I didn't know this, he told me about it only after he saw me in his video.
And I also remember looking down my window, whenever he was shouting at someone or playing with his dog, because I remember being in awe of him.
And then we left Kolkata for 3 years. I remembered him for a while, but then forgot.
Now we're back. And I know him better than many people.
Of course, his friends in his class know him better, but still. It feels as if though he has so many friends, my significance is immediately diminished.
What people fail to understand about my childhood friend is that, even though he might come across as a huge pain in the ass, he is still nice. Wonderful, in fact. I've lost count of the number of times he has saved me. He made me come out of my shell. It was my own doing, of course, he helped me in places. In the bus. At home.
When I talk to him, when he talks to me, I could freeze that moment and exist in it forever because then it actually feels like I've got a good friend. We might not have common interests (no surprise there, most of the people in my life don't; R's a wonderful exception though) but we look out for each other, and that's what matters.
He is passionate about his guitar. It's wonderful seeing him talk about his guitar, he gets so hyper. He is a good person, because he looks out for others in a way they won't look out for themselves, and he tries to fill that void for everyone.
I get sad when he gets angry at me. Because then he won't accept my apology and he remains angry at me for a long time. It's only over when he's in a good mood. And that's not good, because I remain tense for this while.
Ah, Monkey is one of the few remaining people I've gotten really attached to. He knows what he wants, and he goes after it. Let me tell you, his relationship with his parents and friends is worth being written down in books.
In short, Monkey is a wonderful childhood friend who has never left my side, and I hope never will.
Because I will never leave his side.
Because I will never leave his side.
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