SS 43 - Page 98

It's intriguing, how nature functions in the strangest possible ways. One of those strange ways was when I was barely 8-years-old and I found myself lying in a medical room with an oxygen mask on my face during a mild asthma attack in school. A skinny, little girl with two braids walked up to me, and said, "Hi, I'm the new girl, remember? Do you need anything? Should I tell ma'am to call your mum? I'll carry your bag to the bus, don't worry. You just relax okay, I'll take down your notes too." And that is how I met Tejaswee Rao - my best friend.

We were away from each other for a few years, owing to both our fathers being in the military. But years later, we were re-united, when we were both accepted into Lady Shri Ram College in Delhi, and life could not have been better, with my best friend by my side.

It was an ordinary day, five years ago. We were in yet another boring lecture, itching to go out and frolic in the rain instead of paying attention to McQuail's theory of Mass Communication. The weather literally played damp squib to our ambitions at this point in time, when all we wanted was a childish monsoon play-day with our college puppies and kittens, and a warm cup of coffee thereafter.

I was sitting right beside Tejaswee, scribbling in my notebook about how I never wanted to grow up, while she scribbled in her's in fierce agreement. Judging by the general aura of the classroom, and the sheer lack of motivation, our professor gave in to a class of 20 odd puppy faces and let us all go. Before she could finish her sentence, the classroom had already fallen victim to our mass exodus to surrender to the Delhi rains.

There we were, a group of 19-year-old giggly girls, prancing around in the puddles, drenched from head to toe. It was one of the happiest days of our lives, and one I later came to remember as the last day I spent with Tejaswee.

The next few days were the longest and most painful days I've ever lived through. It all started with a single message we received as a group, which still haunts me to date:

"So I'm in the hospital and apparently down with dengue. I might need blood transfusion, and lots of love. Get me both and I'll be back on my feet before you know it. My blood group is B positive, so be positive. :P"

I still remember this day, down to what I wore and what I was doing. I remember the moment when I called up my mum and asked her how blood transfusion works, and how I could help. I never got a good enough response from her. All she suggested was to call her and ask if she needs anything else.

The next few days her condition worsened. She was terribly weak and the virus was spreading through her body like poison. She never let us know how bad the illness really was, until her organs began to malfunction. I called her in a desperate attempt to reach out and make her feel better. I held the phone to my ear while it rang, and something told me she wouldn't pick up. Seven rings later, as I was about to hang up, I heard a frail voice on the other end. She sounded weaker than ever, but at this moment, I was just happy to hear her voice.

"I'm not doing so well," she said, followed by how boring she thought the ICU was.

Trying very hard to keep a brave face, I responded, "Listen, our birthdays, we're supposed to celebrate them together this time. You better be completely fine by then okay." She was silent for a few seconds, but I could feel her smile on the other side.

"Mosquitoes suck, you know." And after a long pause, she said, "Use Odomos generously when you go out the next time, and reduce your coffee intake. You're addicted, you know that right?"

"Oh, looks like you're fine after all, Granny," I said with a lump in my throat, "When can I come see you?" And in a fraction of a second she responded, "Funny thing you know, they call it the ICU, but you can't really 'see me.'"

And we both shared our last laugh together, as a tear rolled down my eye.

The days that followed, proved to be the worst few days of my life. She had lost consciousness and her organs were beginning to give up on her. We held on to the tiniest strings of hope, we possibly could. Our tight-knit, liberal, non-believer friend group, in a desperate attempt, took to praying, medical cross-consultation, counselling, and so on. We regularly visited her in the hospital, in hopes of some good news, and to console her family. It had become somewhat of a post-college routine. We were ready to do all it took for her to get better.

It felt like just another day, the 11th of August 2010. I was sealing the third 'Get Well' soon card I made for her, and getting ready for college. During our third lecture of the day, I was feeling hopeful after Tejaswee's brother gave me the news of her getting better. I was sitting in class thinking about what I would say to her once she was out of the hospital, and resume our conversation about planning our birthdays together. But just moments after my happy fantasy, my world came crashing down. Life had slapped me in the face so hard, it was determined to leave an ugly lasting scar. And life, as I knew it, changed forever.

There I was sitting on the last desk of my classroom, feeling numb. My hands trembling with what I just saw. My face fell, and for a while I couldn't feel any emotion. My friend, Akanksha, saw the expression on my face and rushed towards me to grab my phone from my hand. It had a message from our teacher on the screen which said, "I'm really sorry, I don't know how to tell you this, but Tejaswee is no more."

My best friend, Tejaswee, whom I had known for 11 years, was never going to come back. In that moment, I felt nothing. My mind went blank, and I felt incapable of showing any emotion. I couldn't speak or react for a few minutes, when, finally, Akanksha hugged me and before I knew it, I burst out crying. All I wanted in that painful moment was to pick up the phone and speak to Tejaswee, like I always did in a difficult time. But this time I could do nothing. It was the most helpless I had ever felt in my life.

The next few days were a daze. I felt like I had lost the ability to be happy. At her funeral, I stood outside with her mum, while she was being cremated. I was not ready to bid our final goodbye, and I never really would. All I wanted, in the days that followed, was a miracle. I wanted someone to wake me up from this terrible dream. I was emotionally immobilised by the gravity of my loss. It felt like 11 years of my life went away with her, and all I wanted was to hear her voice for one last time. The incident had changed me and my outlook towards life. Tejaswee, which meant bright and radiant, was gone, leaving a very figurative and emotional darkness behind. I had lost my faith in God, life, and medicine. I was in a state of constant anguish and sorrow.

It was a harrowing time that followed. Her death was like losing a limb. Time may heal the wounds, but the loss can never be repaired. It took me a few days to make a slight recovery and regain my senses. I spent the next few days with her family, trying to be strong for them, and spent my time silently collecting and strengthening every memory I had left of her.

Words seem to fail me when it comes to describing how much I miss her. The void she left was a hard one to fill. But life has a pace, and while life offers you time to heal, it doesn't afford you the space to show it. It is unexpected and, sometimes, switches tracks when you're least prepared. But it does lend you a hand when others aren't looking, trying to make up for the pain it caused.

These five years, I have been healing, but I still have been seeking, what she seemed to have taken with her. I still seek the 11 years. There is a part of me that wants to let go, a part of me that wants to believe that everything happens for a reason, but no reason seems good enough when it came to this event.

She changed my life in so many ways, and it's amazing how she still seems to do so. From our college pet, a little puppy whom we raised and named; a cat I brought home, hoping to raise alongside my dog; the different and sometimes crazy combinations of colours I wear; the pages in my notebook filled with random doodles; the insanity and ecstasy I feel whenever it rains; all the times I've been fearless to speak my mind; spicy chaat and chai-samosa sessions, and so many more of those little things in life are places I find her in. Things she imbibed in me. In every good thing I do, or positive thing I say, I feel like she is present. A part of her that lives in me and is guiding me to do those things. Do good, do the best, do right.

I still believe she's out there somewhere, and I hope I could meet her one last time to tell her that she means the world to me. I am what I am today all because of her. She gave me the strength, courage, and passion to go through life with the simplicity, ease, and innocence which was synonymous with her.

I would've loved for us to grow old together and do all those things we planned to, from being together in school and college, all the way to being business partners and flatmates. I know life would have been different had she still been here, but I know deep down that she's always right here by my side, making me go through life effortlessly and with the same passion, insanity, and innocence that she did.

It's been five years since she died, and from where I stand today, her life was what inspired me to become who I am today. She always motivated me to write, and everything I am today, I owe it to her. Thinking about her may someday restore my faith in the existence of God, because if it weren't for him/her, I wouldn't have had a friend like her.

Tejaswee Rao, thank you for being in my life and making me what I am today. All the hurdles I crossed, the tears I fought, the fights I avoided and the hope I refuse to give up, I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you for being there for me and for still continuing to do so. You've been my mentor, sister and pillar of strength. One may think it's cosmic coincidence, but I know it's all you. I will not mourn your loss, but I will celebrate your life, and love you till the end and beyond.