Dealing with that sinking feeling when your friends leave town
On my first day of college, at St Xavier’s Calcutta, I remember a certain Father Lewis giving us the welcome lecture. “These three years [of college] will be like a bus ride; you’re all in it together — from different backgrounds, different parts of town — and when your time comes, you’ll get off and go your separate ways. But remember the most important thing: enjoy the ride — it’ll be over way too soon.”
He forgot to mention a couple of adjuncts — probably deliberately, because he didn’t want to confuse a group of gangly teenagers with broader philosophies.
One, like the three years at college, life too is like a bus ride — one that gets over way too soon.
Two, and more contextually, bus rides — at least the ones we were undertaking to get to college those days — always came dotted with stops along the route. Co-passengers got off, got on, while the ride went into terminal drive.
I cannot help but think of the passengers-gettingoff-the-bus-at-various-stops line each time someone I know — and love — moves on from Dubai. Dubai is a strange fixture; it’s a stepping stone, the quintessential “bus” — the way Father Lewis described it — from where friends move on rather than move back to a common ground (wherever that may be). Even before you form ties that bind, you know it’s only a matter of time before the fellowship of the ring will be broken. (I also have sub-theory: because Dubai is such a transient place, one tends to get “attached” easily… time is of the essence here, so no point waiting and watching.)
“How long do you think you’ll be in Dubai?” is one question that does the rounds every time things get a bit emotive (generally after sundown).
“A year? A couple of years? Who knows? You?” (Yeah, right, many times “one year” turns into one decade, but there’s always a sense of edginess and impending dislocation.)
“Hmmm, no idea… at some point, I guess… but till then, let the nights remain young.” And we raise a toast to that. Last week, when I saw off two of my dearest friends — who were moving to a different country to start a new life together — it hit me harder than usual. I should have gotten used to it by now, this constant stream of departure lounge selfies and promises to “visit soon” and stay connected on Facebook and WhatsApp, while trying to figure what on earth you’re supposed to do when a bleak day stretches out endlessly and you’re frantically trying to hit speed dial on your phone for friends to be saviours, there
Last week, when I saw off two of my dearest friends — who were moving to a different country to start a new life together — it hit me harder than usual
will be one more number that’ll be ineffective.
In the run-up to this departure, I think I learnt three things about myself:
1) I like to be in denial. So, for weeks, and then days, I refused to come to terms with goodbyes and the finality of a closed chapter, changing the subject each time it came up. “You’re seriously leaving?” I’d ask each time and draw out a shallow reinterpretation, even though I’ve known it’s a given. Maybe it’s time for me to burst the bubbles I’ve carefully cultivated over the years.
2) If I want to make an effort, I actually can. I’m not a helpless pile of anti-social feelings, even when it’s been a long workday and all I want to do is collapse into bed and hit the snooze button. A quick reapplication of lipstick, a comb-through of the hair, a change of shoes — into something more comfy — and you’re good to go for a night out to spend quality time with those who won’t be inhabiting the same city limits for much longer. At the end of the exercise, the feeling is priceless. Life is all about living in flashes. These were lightning flashes.
3) On the homestretch — aka, airport departure terminal — I’m good at lighting up a bonfire of inanities, and I like to be surrounded by those who do the same. It’s a great idea to be silly and crass, and keep all conversations at banter level, when you’re sitting down for a last coffee (green tea, in my case, since late-night caffeine shots interfere with my sleep routine) after check-in formalities have been completed, instead of being deep and teary-eyed. It’s cathartic, and somehow distils your emotions better because you have a buffer. I was dreading the final act of saying goodbye, when my friends crossed the line only ticket-holding ‘travellers’ are allowed to tread, but a lame joke coupled with a long-drawn-out hug took away the brunt of the pain.
When I returned home from the airport, it was well past midnight but sleep eluded me. I tossed and turned for an hour. Father Lewis (may his tribe increase) came to me in a vision, and gave me a tweaked version of what he’d told me a lifetime ago: “I hope you remembered to enjoy the ride.”
That lulled me to sleep (or maybe the soothing effects of the green tea were finally seeping in). I
did enjoy the ride, were my closing thoughts for the night. There’s been a sense of an ending — but only for a chapter. There are a great many chapters left in the book we all call life.