“Users Guide to being pals with R.S. (for dummies)”

For a long time I’ve been afflicted with an extremely severe condition popularly known as writers block. Not that I consider myself to be writer in the truest sense. But if the shoe fits, albeit a tad stinky and strewn with holes, wear it.

The causes of this affliction, I tell myself, are one of the following – absence of a muse, hectic work, working out at the gym and competitive exams that I don’t bother studying for.

The non-existence of female inspiration is actually a prerequisite of being a tortured artist. So we can scratch that. As for work, well, if I have time for online poker so it can’t be that. The bulge on my biceps that only I seem to notice would obviously help me hold a pen better. We are left with the competitive exams. Who knew that not studying would be so stressful that it drains all of ones creative juices?

Anyways I’m making a brief return to the writing scene and unlike previous narcissistic pieces in which I talk about myself and my experiences with myself, this particular write up is for a very special friend.

This special friend is embarking on her very own version of the great American dream. And while I’m excited for her, it does leave me with the tough ask of having to say goodbye. Considering my inability to have a serious conversation about feelings and other such disconcerting topics I thought it best to go the written way.

R. S. and I were actually in the same queue for paying fees on admissions day before college began. The fact that it took us 3+ years to actually become friends is something that I rue till date but as the saying goes good things happen to those that wait. (Neither of us was really waiting but I can’t always find a saying that fits. I’m not that good a writer though R.S., I’m sure, is one of the very few who disagree.)

She seemed petrified at being there and wouldn’t say more than a few words. (Years later I found that this was not status quo) Not that I felt particularly chatty, being a kid from a small town suddenly finding himself in the big city. For the next 3 years in the same class it was mere exchange of polite smiles whenever we crossed paths. During that period I made a set of great friends and so did she. As of today, these 2 sets of friends have actually union-ed have become 1 set of great friends. (There’s a gold mine of wordplay here relating to the ‘intersection’ being R.S. and Venn diagrams but it’s late at night and my math skills aren’t what they used to be.)

I don’t exactly remember how and when we became ‘amigos’ but I’m pretty sure it was sometime between her typing out my programs in lab and R.A and I. telling her horribly untrue but yet extremely entertaining stories about each other to quench her insatiable thirst for gossip. R.S., herself, wasn’t too far away from controversy. Rumor has it that her ex-amour was a chocolate smuggler operating from Switzerland. This has yet not been proved untrue.

Anyways since I wouldn’t want anybody else to make the mistake of taking 3 years to befriend this awesome chick, I’m writing this “Users Guide to being pals with R.S. (for dummies)”

It’s very hard to find people who are nice to everybody. R.S. though is one of them; she has a kind word for everybody making it impossible for anyone to not like her. I’ve tried my best to teach her the more colorful parts of the English language but she’s a slow learner. Expletives don’t escape her mouth, actual *,$,#,@ do, just like in the books.

She’s wonderfully weird in a host of ways. Her bag weighs a ton, no wonder she doesn’t put on weight. All that exercise lugging around 15 kgs of laptop, tech books, novels and junk food puts to waste the cat-sized portions she has for lunch.

She’ll poke at your flab just to make sure whether the working out at the gym is actually working.

She’s a friend who keeps in touch when you are a million miles away. One of the only people I can talk to about the serious things in life. Her advice and understanding make her seem older than she actually is, which is 29. That’s her real age. Don’t let her tell you otherwise.

She carries herself with, so effortlessly, a cheerful disposition that makes it impossible for one to brood even when that’s all one wants to do. Believe me I’ve tried.

An IMer if I ever knew one. I'd worry if I didn't received a hey, yo or wassup for more than two days. The only person that I wouldn't mind taking a break from work to chat with.

Literally the most soft-spoken person I have ever met. The volume of her voice being as low as it is, the voice therapy joke never gets old. Though I never seen her not put her point across. Those who know R.S. will attest to it - when she speaks you listen.

The only person I'd always expect to get my jokes and she always laughs even when they aren't all that funny.

That’s not to say she isn't without her quirks. She isn't exactly lightning quick when it comes to making decisions. I'll bet on the way to the airport today she'll be saying "I don't know if I will be going to US for my MS. If not can we go to (insert dessert shop here) next weekend?"

The only girl I know who can quote lines from "Godfather".

Oh yeah and she's secretly a nerd who sends forwards relating to C programming. Please hold finger and thumb in the shape of an “L” on your forehead.

More courageous than I was when it came to tobogganing down the slope in snow world.

She gets high on sugar. I mean like really buzzed. I need scotch whiskey for that; she can manage it with lindt.

She’s the Heart and Soul of our group.

That’s all I can think of right now but there’s so much more I can’t put on paper. You’ll have to find out for yourselves.

I can't say we'll be great friends forever. I'm not the best at keeping touch. Perhaps she'll get busy in Texas. And maybe it'll be one of those friendships where the next time we'll talk is when she invites me for her wedding through e-mail. But sometimes in life you meet somebody just to realize how much better a person you can actually be. And that person for the last few years of my life has been R.S.

Here's hoping we haven't laughed the last of our laughter.

Good Bye and God Bless.

(Sorry if this piece is a little too emotional. A drop of Vodka fell into my Cranberry juice and I am so high!)