The evening hangs heavy. A curtain of unseen rain, a parody of a meaningful metaphor.
I heard news that my childhood friend has been diagnosed with colon cancer, final stage. A friend with whom I shared poverty, poor infrastructure, mediocre schooling, and passionate cricket matches. A friend with whom I barely stayed in touch over the years. A friend who kept track of birthdays and death anniversaries like a modern-day Chitrakoot.
The first thing that happened upon hearing the news - when he is still alive - is that I made it about myself. He is my age, belongs to my world, and this news was meant to cast a shadow in my own existence, obviously.
We do have narcissism in our blood, all of us. Maybe we don't. Maybe it's just me. Why else would I make his diagnosis about myself?
When the fog of the news shifted from blinding to barely decipherable, I remembered the late night sessions in the terrace of Bldg No 8, Subash Nagar. We had graduated from crowd-funding rubber cricket balls to crowd-funding cheap whiskey. OC. Officers' Choice, 10 rupees per quarter. Each person getting a thimble of the sacred poison, imagining a high. The real high came from my friend's singing. In a parallel universe, he wouldn't have been a failed Diploma Engineer-cum-successful SME entrepreneur. In that universe, he would be singing new tunes alongside the modern greats of the industry. Till date, I cannot hear a Kishore Kumar or Manna Dey song without also hearing his own throat signature.
There are those who sound good after a few drinks. My friend has sounded great when both he and the audience was sober. He was the lead singer of a frigging band when even South Bombay kids of the city didn't have aspirations of a band. A Chembur lad with poise and talent could dream big when dreaming big was not fashionable.
When I asked him why he decided to acquire a Diploma in Engineering - a pursuit that was highly unsuitable for him - he gave me Bollywood gyan. He recalled a movie in which Pran, the father, is nonchalant when his daughter says she wants to introduce a guy. This is how the dialogue goes:
"Ladka kartha kya hai?"
"Gaatha hai."
"Beti, gaatha tho mein bhi hoon. Lekin woh kartha kya hai?"
My friend spoke about the impact this exchange left on him. He was then onwards on a path to mediocrity. I daresay he converted himself into a winner with his pursuits. Raised a family, made money... found the respect of society.
He became good. I know that he was capable of greatness. A greatness that could have been. Almost. There is many a slip between the cup and the throat.
I still hold on to hope that he will emerge stronger from his diagnosis. That there is still an epilogue of this story that is waiting to be written.
At least I am no longer making this news about myself.
