Something Borrowed. Something Convoluted.

I borrowed this book from my neighbor one day last week when I needed a good dose of girlfriend talk. After spending the evening eating bhajias and drinking aam panna, I left for home in the rain, this book clutched to my bosom. It lay on my side table untouched for a couple of days. Then over the past couple of days, I picked it up on a whim and read it. Before I say anything more about the book, let me add a disclaimer. I could not relate to the main story in the book at all. It was bad. I knew it was chick lit and no expectations whatsoever. Even then, by the time I was halfway I kept going simply because I did not want to leave it half-read.

Back to the stuff I did want to talk about. There was this sub story about the interaction between best friends. A relationship I felt was toxic. The kind of relationships where people can’t live with and can’t live without. The undercurrent of competition, the one-upmanship and the shared history. There were parts of the book that showed flashes of brilliance. Of connecting with the reader at a basic level. Somehow the moments kept getting lost and the story meandered into senseless selfishness and whining.

On my drive this morning, my mind went back to the days when I was a middle schooler. The friends from school and from college. The people I have envied, competed with and traded friendship bands with. The issues with self-worth that the book talks about suddenly made more sense. It reminded me of the lengths I go to preserve the history, the memories.

It reminded me of long walks, bike rides, chatting into the nights, confessionals, gossip, retail therapy and feeling vulnerable. It also reminded me that I live way too much in the past and future and too little in the present. I realized there is a part of me that refuses to grow up. To friendship my mental glasses clink. Cheers!

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