A Day With a Friend.

By Vidya Sigamany @ Sulekha.com

Writing about trips, here's an account of another one taken many years ago, quite on another dimension. But it is more about my collegemate and adventurous friend, whom I shall just call S. We had had enough of college, of lectures, of exams, of parents, of the routine and of pondering on what to do after college. We planned to go on our own trip, literally and otherwise! Classmates, immersed in studies and happy with the customary class tour that we had been on some months ago, didn't see the point. So it was just the two of us with only our enthusiasm to give us company.

We decided on a one-day jaunt (actually, we had no choice in the matter - staying out overnight would have attracted some unwanted questions from even my lenient parents and for S, it would have meant permanent curfew, even if she had managed it). Destination Coonoor, for it was just around three hours by bus for us (from Coimbatore, that is). We had both been to the lesser-known hill station in the Nilgiris separately but it was the trip that mattered, not where we went.

It was a pleasant Saturday morning in February when we set out. A few well-meaning friends came (oh, not classmates - they must have been earnestly parading in the uniform saree, for we had chosen the college Sports Day for the trip!) and saw us off with warnings of not to talk to strangers and orders to get back home before dark.

As the state-transport bus wound its way up the hills, S and I chatted happily, bubbling over with the feeling of getting away and going on our own. Meeting S on the first day in college, what struck me was her boundless energy, natural friendliness and non-stop chatter, which used to put off a lot of people. Sharing these qualities, though not in the same quantities, I was but destined to become her friend. As I got to know her better, I found out that her outer friendliness was a reflection of the truly warm, soft-hearted and generous person she was.

I had many friends with whom I had grown up and so shared a deep bond with. So did S. But in the three years in college, we were brought close by a lot of common likes and the things we did together: we sat together in the last row; we loved reading and regularly read novels during class; we could discuss anything with each other; while we did quite okay in studies, we were active in the drama and dance scene (yes, it was useful in missing classes with the HOD's permission); we thought nothing of bunking classes to go watch a movie (and instigating classmates to go with us) or 'just like that'; we stayed after class daily for a coffee in the tiny canteen or for a heart-to-heart in one of the many corridors of our old and large institution; apart from the college library, we would frequent another that was near our college -- the memories are endless.

When you went out with her, you just let her take charge because she was always so sweet-tempered and her cheerfulness so infectious that she could easily cajole people into doing things for us. Her garrulousness had won us useful friends in the watchman, the library owner, the canteen thatha and even the grumpy college librarian (all these people will recognise me now only if I went with her!). All these experiences were very dear to S because her folks were very conservative and she made the most of the time at college.

To come back to the trip, we reached Coonoor in the mid-morning and of course, the first thing we did was go in search of some coffee. It was pleasantly chill and we didn't need sweaters in the warm sunshine. We walked to Simm's Park, a major sightseeing spot and relaxed on a grassy patch for some time. We took some pics with a camera that had only a few shots left (I have only one snap of me standing alone in the park). When we got out the sandwiches and chappatis that we had carried for a picnic lunch, we were overwhelmed by a group of monkeys that snatched away everything and had us retreating with our handbags to find lunch elsewhere. We finally found a mess which catered to office-goers and had a so-so meal. After a bit of walking around and desultory shopping, it was time to head back home.

On the bus back, both of us were quiet. There seemed no need for words. We were content in the success of our trip though it was uneventful and not really 'fun'. We had spent a peaceful day together, doing exactly what we wanted to. Maybe the silence was also tinged with a fear that these days would soon be over and that we would not able to do things together. We reached home in time and when I met her on Monday, I asked her about it and she admitted to feeling the same.

Now, many years later, I live in another city and she is married, settled down with two kids. Both of us busy with our own lives. We still talk about the trip every time we call or meet each other. But the uncharacteristic silence, which bound us together as no words ever could, remains unspoken.