On Friendship

Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
I always wondered while sitting or talking or spending time with my friends, when does friendship truly begin? When did I realize that the people sitting around me are the most wonderful people ever? When did I decide that they share more than just likes or dislikes with me?

After thinking for ages and making many new friends and watching myself carefully, I did find my answer: Friendship begins when you stop thinking about yourself and think and care about the person next to you instead.

Whenever I think about friendship, I remember a wonderful poem written by one of my favorite poets. It always brings a tear to my eye when I read it. Here it goes:

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, who has sight so keen and strong
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


I tried hard to write a poem about friendship, but this one says it all. So many friends come and go in our lives, but some of them leave footprints in our hearts and we are not quite the same afterwards. I have shared likes, dislikes, tastes, clothes and everything with my friends but what is prized above all those things is a part of my very soul, which is the greatest thing I could give and receive I return. Don’t fight with your friends, I still think about the fights that I had and a weird kind of pain fills my heart and pulls me. Never think that people don’t love you, it is not true, your friends always do, no matter what and it is because of them that our world is truly beautiful.

An Echo from the Past

“The hybridization of carbon in the compound-”, he paused, “you there, last bench, stand up!” I reluctantly opened my eyes and blinked up at him. My friend nudged me and hissed, “Stand up before he explodes.” I stood up, on two very wobbly legs, to sixty pairs of eyes following my every move. “Can you please tell the class what the hybridization of carbon in the compound is?” he ventured. I stared absently at the pretty patterns on my dress having no clue about the answer. Right on cue, I heard the welcome ‘tring-tring’ of the bell. He shook his head slightly murmured something indistinct and walked out of the class, pausing only to say, “Good luck for tomorrow’s exam everyone.”

That night I was sitting up in bed trying really hard to make friends with the periodic table and protons and neutrons. Size is no guarantee of power, I mused, thinking how these tiny sub-atomic particles were ruining my otherwise perfect life.

I had hardly glanced through the first few pages of my book, which smelled fresh, like it had never been opened before, a bad omen. Why, oh why, had I never paid any attention in his class? Why didn’t I ever bother to take notes? Helium and Argon were mocking at me, making evil faces and torturing my poor brain. Cursing the elements, my textbook authors, my exams and myself, I went on reading; the pages in my textbook seemed never ending….

Little balls of helium and argon were dancing around my head, and bouncing off my shoulders, “No, no, no,” I screamed, “go away”, till I realized that it was my mother holding my head saying, “wake up, or you’ll be late”. I glanced at my watch. I had 45 minutes to get to my exam hall. Without bothering to brush, I dashed out of my house across the street to where my chem. professor lived. I knocked hard on his door and waited as seconds trickled past. At last the door opened by his wife, who turned up her nose at my bedraggled plight. “Is sir th-”I began; she cut me short and said, “Yes, come in.”

I cautiously stepped up to him and asked meekly, “Sir, could you please tell me about the hybridization of carbon in the compound-

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Monday morning. I silently murmured a prayer to the person who might have invented coffee, as the caffeine coursed through my veins waking me up. As I was skimming through the pages of my newspaper, I heard my younger daughter moaning in her sleep. ‘It’s not time for school yet is it?’ I wondered. The door bell rang urgently, snapping me out of my reverie. Speculating on who it could be so early in the morning, I found a thoroughly unkempt teenager at my doorstep. I raised my eyebrows enquiringly and she said, “Madam, I have a doubt” “Sure, come on in.”

She ambled in timidly and asked, “Could you please tell me about the hybridization of carbon in the compound-

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