My best friend's wedding

This is an essay on the topic: My Best Friend - Shweta

My best friend's name is Shweta. I met her in college, when I met a lot of people who stayed on with me for life. Shweta is one of those. We belong to a group of people who are together for more than 10 years now and still solid as a rock for each other. But, that's not what I wanna write about.

I want to talk about Shweta, or Tevta, as I call her. I don't know where to start from. I don't remember the day I met her in college, I am not like that. What I do remember is from day 1, Shweta and I were inseparable. We were a bunch of teens back then, silly, crazy and a little weird. We have had our share of fights too. I was too outspoken for my own good, and she was too tolerant for hers. There was a time when we were not even speaking for almost 6-7 months. I don't want to remember the time, however I know that we were always meant to be together.

Even today, I can sense her mood from the tone of her voice. I am her support system and she is mine. I go to her with my problems and she advises me. She was most understanding when I couldn't give her time after I got married. Needless to say, we survived due to endless long phone conversations.

We like spending time with each other. We do things for each other. I am her mom's favorite and my mom adores her. She was the first one to see Ira in the hospital. Even before I laid my eyes on my bundle of joy. She knows when I am going to cry and tells me to stop immediately. She is afraid of cows. I can't even remember the number of times she has cried because we "accidently" put her close to a cow. She is as fond of eating as I am. We used to constantly spend our pocket money on eating out. She still picks me and drops me whenever I go to Nashik, without complaining once.

Why am I remembering all this today? Shweta is getting married next week. She is getting married to a wonderful guy, from our own group and is on her way to marital bliss. I couldn't have been more happy. And yet, somehow the feeling of losing one's best friend is not going away. I know I won't really lose her. She will be in the same city, I will be able to meet her and talk to here often. It's just that a lot of things change.

This is not a sob story. I have seen Shweta struggle for happiness. I am overwhelmed with joy at her getting married to Pankaj. I have no words of wisdom for her. She was the wise one, always. She knows how to perfectly deal with everything. She has patience, which I have not. Her wisdom is natural, mine is hard-earned. She is gentle and I am rude and harsh. She is a comfort blanket and I am a constantly erupting volcano. We are exact opposites in some cases and yet mind readers when it comes to each other.

I will miss my best friend. I will miss my soul mate :)

Home

"The places where you were the happiest are your favorite places after all" ~ Unknown

After a long time I went to my home town and stayed at my mom's place for 4 days. I go there often but I rarely stay so long. This time, I not only stayed for 4 days, I slept, ate and literally spent time alone in the house after so long. It surely opened a box of memories.

We moved in that place when I was 6 years old and I moved out when I was almost 25. I spent more that 20 blissful years in that house. I always tell my mother that even if I meet her often, I crave to stay and meet the house. It's a place where I have been most happy. 

It's a place where I started my school. It's a place where my friends would come over to play. It's a place where I and my sister used to fight over small things. It's a place where the bedroom was always occupied by my sister and granny so much so that even when both of them are not around, I and my mom still sleep in the hall. The hall was 'our' territory. Over the years, so many things changed in that house, the color of the rooms, the furniture, the people living in the house but the warmth is still there.

I love my home. I love to be alone at home. I never feel lonely when I am at my home. I am always at peace when I am at my mom's home. We have had an awesome childhood in that home. My home was closest to my college. A working mother ensured that the house was empty from 10-6 everyday and so my house was the first place we would hang out after college. We have had many fights, discussions, debates, and random weird activities in the house. 

It's a place where my darling little niece is born. It's a place from where I got married. It's a place where my kids will be born someday and like Ira, I hope they also look forward to visiting the home every vacation. 

Some places are always special to us. My home is one such place where I am the happiest person of all.

Freedom

I started riding my bike again! Woohoo! My bike means freedom to me. My bike means I no longer will rely on Deven for a pick and drop. My bike means I don't have to deal with rude rickshawallas again. My bike means I can decide when to go and come from office. When to meet friends, where to meet them and when to come home. I am free!
My bike also means I won't have the amazing ride in the morning with deven driving our car and we having a good time. My bike means no more impromptu visits anywhere, anywhere where there is no decent parking spot. My bike means remembering one ways on the roads, getting PUC on time, filling petrol in a crowd, manoeuvring through pune's traffic and even more scarier drivers.
My bike, my freedom?

Keys

I forgot to take my house keys with me when I left for a training early morning yesterday. My dear husband went on a trek and came home back at 1230 in the night (Oh! but that is another story). So here I was, at 5 PM in the evening, without the keys, without the husband who has another set and all stranded outside my own house.
I just remembered a lot of things. I remembered when I was a child, one of my friend had lost her house keys and then they finally had to break down the lock. I remembered when we had a lock that belonged to the last century, which was made of stone and yet one day, when the robber broke into my mom's house, it might not have taken him more than 10 minutes to break the lock. We didn't have the latch system only because my mother was worried that one of us (me and my sister and even my mom) would accidentally lock ourselves out when we are just hanging around at the neighbor's house (not without any justification, because there were frequent cases of the door getting shut due to wind when somebody is standing outside the door, chatting with folks around).
I remembered how as teens, we believed we had the keys to the locks of someone special's heart. I believed I knew somebody in and out only to be mistaken soon. I remember the cliches around keys, and how the key to success is blah, blah, and, blah. I remember keys playing an important part when I wanted to attract a small baby towards me - kids like shiny, ringing things.
If you were wondering if that's what I did till my husband came home, stranded outside my house - well, you don't know me then. Instead of panicking, I realized we have a spare key with the house maid, whom I contacted immediately and got hold of the keys from her graciously.

I solved a problem, but I did not see the lock of my memories broken without the need of any key.