A long time coming

This has been a long time coming. It really has. A while ago, I was told (and duly posted) a typical Eashan Ghosh blog entry and, in many ways, this is one of those. Yet, there are no dates I can remember, no ambiguous language I can ever remember using, no unsaid feelings that I can ever remember harbouring. However, just to comply with the stereotype, I shall call her Quidge, I shall refer to anonymous conversations and I shall tag this under 'Personal Crap' and 'Special People'.

Though I've never told her this, I'd heard a lot of negative stuff about Quidge before I really got talking to her properly. To some extent, a steady trickle of negativity about her continues to filter through to me even today. However, separating the meaningful from the  irrelevant has never been difficult with Quidge. I know that her first reaction to reading this will be to rebuke me for not telling her what others have been saying to me about her. That, in itself, shows an imperfection that's very, very funny to observe, because almost all her decision-making will otherwise be based on what's good for her. :-)

Suffice to say, unlike several other girls who I have very openly and publicly been in awe of, my liking for Quidge was based on her imperfections, her very human reactions, her very obvious motivations and her very predictable thought processes. We've never had a problem understanding each other - our favourite phrase is probably 'you know what I mean, right?'

I remember the first time she was even slightly uncomfortable talking to me was when, for some reason, we discussed if it surprised her that we'd become so close as quickly as we had. We settled that conversation with a sort of indifference that made me uncomfortable. But by the time I went to my room that night, I was certain that the way out was keeping her focused on curiosities, on little things, on our ever-growing movie list, on who said what about whom, on a certain indie rock band from southern California, on pre-school entertainment.

More importantly, the way out involved keeping her insulated from what was happening around her and so, for the first time in my life, without ever intending to, I learnt what it was like to be protective of someone. I also feared then that it would all disappear without the steady flow of attention that was almost inevitable once I left Bangalore. I'm delighted that, in the ten months since I've left, this hasn't happened.

And that's because Quidge and I were always meant to just be there and nothing more. It's something she told me that night when we first talked about it, but I hadn't really believed it then because there was no reason to believe it then. But I've become more convinced - and thankful - for it every day since I left.

Quidge has shown me that silence, honesty, tolerance, flexibility and moulding your behaviour to adjust to other people can be very, very valuable things. I'd never have said that three years ago. Maybe that could be because I've grown a lot in the last three years. But I really doubt that. I think she's been sweeter than I wanted her to be, spent time with me when I sometimes wished she'd go away and foisted millions of her little thought bubbles onto me when, perhaps, I had better things to do. And for that, I'm immensely thankful. Because ten, fifteen, twenty years from now, I'll look back on this relatively brief period of time and mark this out as the first time, after (at least) six  years of constantly being around girls, I was finally turned into a pliable, accepting person.  

Yet, somehow, my lasting feeling about her from my five years in Bangalore will be one of incompleteness. In Quidge's own words, "I wish I had gotten to know you much much before I really did. But I know I wouldn't have treasured you if I had." That I have only one such instance to point to not only indicates that she doesn't get so directly emotional without reason but also that when she does, it tends to be the kind of stuff that you're likely to remember. I wish I could repeat everything she said to me then but, of course, I can't. But I will say that it means the world to me. And the only reason I've written this is so that she knows it does.