Monday, December 12, 2011

Birds of Same Feathers

We meet and talk with a lot of people. After talking for sometime we say good bye and never remember them again.

But there are some others. We meet them, talk with them, we see them again and talk more and more and they become part of our lives and they remain with us the rest of our lives. We call them FRIENDS.

I have many friends. Too many that it would be difficult to count them or list them. They are UNCOUNTABLE....!!! But when I essay to write something about my friends, it is special, and the people too should be special...

I don't know what coincidence it is that all my good friends are muslims, starting from Saneera and ending at Rajiba. My parents never told me or teach me that we are hindus and they are muslims or christians. And never instructed me that this is our temple and that is their mosque or church. They never advised me that this is our God and that is their God. We never had Gods or temples in our life, in our home. Now, I give to my son what my parents gave me; the belief that there is only one religion, that is humanity.

I met my high school friend Saneera on the day we were admitted in the school. Our fathers knew each other, so we opted to be friends. We talked too much in the class that we got punished always by teachers. Our physics teacher used to ask us what secret was being shared between “Pathummakutty” and “Ammukutty”. It was fun always to talk in the class, and to eat those black and red packets of pickles and choclates from the shops nearby. She went away after school. It was not easy to keep in touch with your friends in those days. We never had facebook or mobile phones.

Pre-degree was the naughtiest years of my life. There was Fathima waiting for me reserving a seat for me near her. We were extremes. And still I don't know why she kept that seat for me before all those years. She still has that special place booked for me. She had written letters even when I forgot. She still calls me whenever she is back home. She still brings foreign choclates especially for me keeping them safe from all her cousins and relatives.

After a gap of four years Priya came to my life. Everybody misunderstood her as a hindu girl. Everyone asked her why she never put a sticker on her forehead. And she was Priya Mohammed, the prettiest of my friends. I was the craziest girl in that Teacher Training College. It was the most complicated year of my life. I wanted to kill the depression which was going to kill me otherwise. I wanted to escape from the memories of an almost ruined love. And Priya was there to help me cure my wounds. We read a lot together. We travelled a lot together. When we left the college, we wrote too many letters to eachother. And whenever I was about to lose my mind, I went looking for her. She was my comfort, the solution of all my problems.

After working in many schools as a temporary teacher, I joined in MSP School. I never realised then that it was going to be the second most important place in my life, when my home occupied the first. There I met a wonderful woman, Sherin.I too became a woman, not a girl anymore. But I was still girlish. And there were still problems in my life. And she taught me, for the first time in my life, how to face the problems in stead of brooding over them, how to handle situations in stead of yielding to them. We shopped together, sometimes alone and sometimes with our children. We discussed movies and books. I went to 'Parvanam', her home with my son to spent holidays. We had good times till she left for Dubai taking long leave from school. Then I realized that there are no more problems or complications in life which I can't solve or manage.

And , Rajiba was more like a dream than real . She came to my life from internet before 4 years. Still she remains. You don't believe if I tell you how we meet each other. You may even say that I'm still dreaming and its a fairy tale that I say. When she came home from Muscat during holidays, she came to my school to meet me. Both of us wanted to confirm that we were no more dreams but real.

I wonder how much I love them, how much happiness their memories bring to my mind... I'm blessed with them...Birds of same feathers...


  1. it is also more like a dream than real ..!
    keep it up....

  2. There is a long way to go...Let your all dreams come true...

  3. even though u drew your life with friends in the most realistic way, i read it like a poem!!!!

  4. It s the rhythmic flow of a river f emotions .....amazng deepa.... I know ur frnd priya mohmd a pretty girl wt long hair n sweet too asked her why she never put a sticker on her forehead.

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  6. All that you spoke and wrote was something quite happening around me like for me Deepa.. May be a few glimpses of it, I was a spectator of it too...Keep writing.