WE BOTH LEFT AT 10

Again, I saw my mad friend across the road. He laughed, as usual. His dimples were obvious- deep like ever, lovely. His eyes, though bloodshot, could melt a heart, also lovely. His teeth were not black, oh! Thank God they were just a little darker than brown.

He had dreadlocks; I remembered the popular singer. How beautiful would a neat one be? But my friend’s, well, could not have been worse, more disheveled. Adorned his majesty with a shirt and a pair of trousers. One thing stood out, half of one trouser was torn and dragging on the floor. Some parts were missing on the shirt. Somehow, it could still be called one. He loved banana; he still did. In a not-too-dirty nylon, he packed a bunch of bananas, dark-spotted.

His guitar had changed. As he grew, it grew, too. They became old together. The guitar was really old. He was also old at 30. Anyways, they both are indeed darker. Compatible, right?

One weird thing; he tied a red rope around his left thigh, and weirder, a green one around his left ankle.

At a crucial juncture in his life, I thought, he must have found solace in sitting down at this junction, where we last met. He rested his back against the rough bark. The tree also, as far as I remembered, was old. The old guitar, with its weak strings, held tightly against his thighs, looked sad and gloomy like it knew someone who knew its lustre past lurked in a close place.

Indeed, I found tears more comforting as the pain harshly wrenched my heart. We, together, left home at 10.

At night, under the dim light, and in front of the old club, same as it was, my mad friend sang and played loudly beside the pole. Beautiful songs! He sang louder than he played Platten’s Fight Song. But the rhythm could really break a heart.

“Like a small boat
On the ocean
Sending big waves
Into motion
Like how a single word
Can make a heart open
I might only have one match
But I can make an explosion
And all those things I didn’t say
Wrecking balls inside my brain
I will scream them loud tonight
Can you hear my voice this time?

This is my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I’m alright song
My power’s turned on
Starting right now I’ll be strong
I’ll play my fight song
And I don’t really care if nobody else believes
‘Cause I’ve still got a lot of fight left in me
Losing friends and I’m chasing sleep
Everybody’s worried about me
In too deep
Say I’m in too deep (in too deep)
And it’s been thirty years
I miss my home
But there’s a fire burning in my bones
Still believe Yeah, I still believe
And all those things I didn’t say
Wrecking balls inside my brain
I will scream them loud tonight
Can you hear my voice this time? …”

With passion, he sang louder. And louder, his voice went with each line of the lyrics. The tear dam broke, I felt wet on my face.

“That’s my friend! Mad?”

Oh! At that moment, I indeed found tears more comforting as the pain harshly wrenched my heart. We, together, left home at 10.

The goodbye he said still echoed in my ears. “Goodbye,” he waved his tiny little hands. “Till we meet again.”

But not at the same junction we departed, two sane kids. “Oh! My mad friend.” I moaned.

“I have found a home
Among birds
The home I longed for
Eyes have not seen
That I may see afresh
My home among the sane

Where morning is morning
And night is really dark
Oh, Sane! Remember
I am your close brother
Teach me to live
Once again this life…” He rattled on.

Gently, I went on and came unto a place where an old friend stayed. He saw me. He stopped. 2 decades ago, two trains left – one forward, the other to the far back. His eyes shined with tears unshed. Like, his sanity was restored at that moment. He remembered that silent night, at this same junction. We, together, left home at 10. He let go of the fight against his tears. They came in a hurry on their sad journey to the jaw.

As he stared at me and more at the bucket in my hands, he cried more. At that point, I found tears more comforting as the pain harshly wrenched my heart. We, together, left home at 10.

He stood. I walked. More tears. I removed the small towel across my shoulders and dropped the bucket I used to hawk sachet water. My feet were dirty, almost like his. In fact, they did look alike, but I was wearing a pair of old slippers. Mad too? No. The train that went forward didn’t really get there. But, we left, together, at 10.