I have almost never felt the need of a ‘best friend’. Because I was fourteen and I had a sister to listen to. I was seventeen and I was dying to go join a college and I was twenty planning my own enterprise and then of course at twenty two waiting for a job and at twenty five getting married. *phew*
So when I had to decide whom should I address this letter I decided it to be you. You as in you, right now, reading it at this very moment. Its you who is my closest friend. I know its strange as there is a slight chance you and I have never met. A very high chance you don’t like me. And of course most definitely the hypothesis that you are finding this all very weird and wish you had not arrived here.
Why you? Just because I have no idea who are you. I like it this way. The more I know you the more I will fall into this trap of deciding what to tell you and what not? Whether you would judge me or say mean things about me? Even if you did I have no idea who you are or whether its you who said or the reader after you. And so peace can prevail.
As you are now my best friend, its your duty to listen to things I am now going to tell. Things I thought I would want to tell my best friend, which by the way till date has never happened.
I am sick of being a good Samaritan. I hate taking care of people. You know why? Of course you know it, you are my best friend! Because I have been doing that for ages. I want someone to pamper me, treat me like a child. I was never a child, perhaps the reason behind my cynicism of this whole best friend game.
If I told you I never really liked drinking alcohol but often took it due to peer pressure, would you say I am not so cool? I can never accept this in front of people. Because you do know my strong views on peer pressure.
Speaking of strong views, I have this insane habit of taking things to heart. If a man is dying in the other corner of the world because his cow was not treated properly, my blood boils. I have tried everything to change this but over the years it has worsened.
Now now I honestly think my husband got dealt a bad hand. In all truthfulness he is too simple to get someone as mad as me. I know he suffers and in silence (which is worse).Notice the brackets, they reveal how control freakish I am. I put them to ensure that people get the hidden meaning of my words. Because I am a control freak, I cannot trust people’s intelligence and accept that they would understand it.
Don’t judge me, I am not an elitist. As much as people might want to convince you, I am not. I only hate Chetan Bhagat readers. Reading, I think if it was not you then books could have been my best friends. Seriously after you finish reading this and after a while no one clicks on this post to even see the photograph, my life will revert to books as best friends.
Read all the things mentioned above, right now. What do you think? I know all sorts of conditions related to mental instability come to your head but no, you are my best friend, you cannot judge me.
What else? I know I am a bad human being when it comes to understanding those who don’t read. I cannot comprehend the reason behind them not reading. Again, for god’s sake don’t kill me over it. I am human, they judge me because I didn’t get a haircut in six months and that I wear awkward clothes to office. Which is acceptable to many as right issues. I judge people when they pick ‘right’ issues which had no real meaning in life actually
Now I need to go read my book, I know you are important but once you leave and the other one takes time to arrive here, I know my dear book will fill in the gaps. The least I can do is go to it when it calls me. Keep in touch, these are one of the very few posts which speak about me, cherish them. Rest of the days you can meet a Sangeeta, a Radha or Arti or in near future an alien (*)IKLO (try making sense of it).
Until next time,