I may have been, in all nine years and a couple of months not a day older, than my friend Svetlana who sat next to me. I watched her as she copied the Hindi lesson tediously from the blackboard, into her note book. She just could not grasp this language. Svetlana’s mother tongue was alien to me, and when she lapsed into it, I sure would be fascinated. In fact every thing about this girl fascinated me.
She came from an aristocratic family, she was sophisticated, she was particular about her dress, her conduct and more so the classmates she would interact. I was smug that she considered me her friend. Oh, you are fair…though not as fair as me she had once confided, it was one of her criteria that sanctioned friendship. Till then, it had never crossed my mind that friendship could be skin deep. But, this girl was to teach me many a lesson in life.
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I always felt cowed down by her boisterous and snobbish ways, but, for reasons best known to a nine-year-old, I clung to this relation. The first blow came in an unexpected manner. There was a shortage of English reader that particular year, but, I had my sister’s hand me down a copy. But, to my great surprise, that weekend my book had disappeared from my bag. Fear, anger and thwart filled my soul. I trotted to school along with my friend telling her how miserable I was feeling because my precious book had vanished. She in her high handed manner, reminded me how careless I was and how it was about time I grew up. Her talk only added to my misery. Back in class, my English reader resurfaced on the desk, it was neatly covered and placed in front of Svetlana.
But, the new cover failed to conceal the familiar dog eared pages and the tatters. Is that not my book, I asked meekly? Of course not, she whispered ferociously. But, the first page still bore my sister’s name. The teacher intervened and matter was settled.
But, I was engulfed in guilt. Svetlana apparently was unruffled, she pretended as if nothing had transpired and reminded me about her approaching birthday and in no uncertain terms told me what she expected as her birthday gift. On the big day I landed with the gift. There was a meek knock and in walked Simon and his four-year-old sister, with a tiny gift in his hand. Svetlana later confided disgustedly, that Simon was uninvited and he had gifted toilet soap ‘how uncouth’, and she lapsed into that strange tongue to give vent to her anger. This time round it made me sick. I don’t have a return gift, to give the uninvited guests, she barked. I looked at her –‘why don’t you give mine?’ I suggested. She looked at me with an expression, only a fool like you can do such a thing. But, it brought a smile on her sulking face. To my surprise, I heard myself say -‘and if you do not mind I have to leave now.’ I was amazed, I could invent white lies, so smoothly and instantly. I got up, as she exclaimed – ‘Oh, I was falling short on the ice-cream as well’. I did not turn, I realised I was walking out of this relation for good.
