Goodbye Bobby- a tribute to my friend

I had been trying Bobby’s number and, looking repeatedly for him in social networking sites, to my surprise he was not of the kinds to disappear in the crowd. But time is mightier than people and it shapes them to adequacy, so I slowly accepted that Bobby has changed. He was no more the crazy, rambling, ready to blast friend of mine. Or perhaps he accepted my timidity and walked out of hope.





Of all the people who taught me to speak Bobby was the first one. The moonlighted Basket ball court of college was our rehearsal yard. We sat for hours discussing giddy politics, friends and jokes. Often times it ended with “you are so irresponsible” and “you are so dumb” expressions. Two poles of a communal impression, one was fond of crowd and other inclined to retreat.



The girls he chose were crazier than him, none of them was ever sure that she liked him. So they kept coming and going and, surfacing and transferring his melodrama to me and his other friends. Our world gets as confused and messed up as we in ourselves are. Sometimes, I wondered if he ever thought before telling everyone that he had been dumped again.



I remember the day our bike crashed into herbage and, I tried hard to argue but ended up laughing. It was so hard to anger him when needed and when it wasn’t needed he was boiling like a volcano and often people who knew him felt like sitting on one. The last time we spoke, it was unbelievably difficult to stop him from landing in Vadodara, where me and my friend were stuck in riots.



But, despite all that he was and all that he did, he was of the very few people who were actually loved. His irresponsibility started at himself and ended at his friends: He was the first person to be relied upon at crucial times, a friend for whom his friends came before himself. Sporadically, I feel if he really knew his time was short here and so he never wasted it on preparing for future as we all did. May be he knew that when we stop living as ourselves,we start living through our friends.



Mankind is a little hard to understand: we have more words for abuse and few for love. We hesitate most to say that we love people rather than telling them "Fuck you" and "Go to hell". And those who say I love you with their being, we take them as absurd and dizzy.Here flowers sell cheap and guns price high. But, crazier people have something of great sanity in them: crazier one appears on the outside, wiser one is inside. This world has its own reasons to love bonkers; it misses jokers and rebels more than father figures.



Bobby, my friend I miss you and, wherever you are may you make as many friends as you had here.

Utopia forever

On a warm, bright winter morning Ms. Butterfly decided to stroll around and relive the day. The world was beautiful with angels around. She took her way to the neighborhood market, stopping at a grocery store.


“Goodmorning Mr. Snake. “ Ms. Butterfly said to the grocer.

She eyed around and found the right corner of juices and picked luscious pink pack.

“How much is the juice worth?” The rose juice wetted her mouth.

“Its 100 Rs" said the grocer.

“But the retail price is 60 Rs?”Ms. Butterfly drew her thoughts back to grocer looking at the pack.

Mr. snake hissed his forked tongue. "Its 100 for living and 60 for the dead. “

“Now do you want it for 60? “Ms Butterfly quickly picked out a hundred rupee note and rushed out of the shop.

She saw the theatre with a blockbuster “pa”. The waiting line was long but somehow she managed until her turn. Ms Cat who was 5th in the adjacent lane pushed ms butterfly and stood ahead. Losing her charm to watch the movie, Ms Butterfly walked back home.

She took the lonelier ring road to match her thoughts. Fresh winter morning breeze soothed her with lily scent of the farm. She took a halt and basked on the lily bed with winter dew.

“Off you go” said Mr. Grasshopper kicking Ms Butterfly from the top.

” This is my place. Who the one you to collect?”

Ms. Butterly passed through ranches, meadows and willows. There was heaven around with perfumes lilies and drifting daisies. But not for her.

Little boy house sparrow chased her even in the woods. Ms. Butterfly could we ride back home. I lost my way following you.

“Leave me alone. I am not going back to Greenville ever again” Irked Ms butterfly

So they crossed rivers, lakes, gardens and alleys, searching for a place that was meant for them.

“Where to? Ask the stranger Mr. Rabbit.

“We are going to utopia.” Replied Ms Butterfly

“Wait. I will join. This forest is not for me.”Mr. Rabbit followed

“ Is there a utopia? Oh… We have had been dreaming of it forever. We are coming with you.” The duck neighborhood was moved.

Deer, pigeons, frogs and bugs all followed the historical inquest of utopia forever. They crossed the Himalayas, Indian Ocean, rain forests and the North Pole.

Sun shone, rain wetted and snow chilled but, they were determined.
“Where to now?” asked Mr. Rabbit looking at the moon from the end of North pole.

Grand old Mr. Gear Bear howled and whooped on their story and pointed out to hiding Mr. snake, Ms cat and Mr grasshopper who had been following them on the great story.

“Those were the days when God lived with me. God frazzled through the days and the nights and kept me awake with him. You know creating a world is not an easy task. Now I am old and worn out but there was a time I carried it on my shoulders.”

He sighed

“For a brief it was all happy but, slowly people came fighting on the ownership of the world. They claimed that because they lived here, the world belonged to them and not to others. They also said that their share was inadequate.”

“God was out of answer and so he abandoned this place giving it all to them. Even now people come seeking their claim.”

I tell them that this world is not to own but, to be. It is a utopia if it is for all and a hell if for one. Ownership distorts vision turning beauty into ugliness.