To the Only Friend I Ever Had

Our friendship dates back to more than 30 years—we were both seven or thereabouts when we met for the first time. To be absolutely honest, I recall nothing of that first meeting. Usually, first meetings are stuff that literature is made of—the instant attraction, the time of the day, the minute details of the whereabouts are all scrupulously recorded by writers when describing a momentous first meeting. Our meeting was nothing like this. Neither of us remembers it; our class register showed that we were there together in the same class, sharing the same space,the same bench. (The latter was a piece of information imparted by our class teacher to my parents in a bitter tone after something momentous did eventually happen.)

I bit Lops. I must have bitten her rather hard because the marks of my teeth showed on her arm for quite a few days. Now, I had a very justifiable reason for biting her but no one seemed interested in hearing my side of the story. Though I remember nothing of our first meeting, I do recall, quite distinctly, all the events that led up to the moment when I actually bit her. I also recall the repercussions and the chaos that followed. Needless to say, I thought the whole thing was handled a little unfairly and couldn’t understand why adults never wanted to see both sides of the matter before arriving at a conclusion.

We, that is Lopa and I, were eating our lunch in perfect harmony. No sign of trouble was in the air. We had not fought that day and I cannot say that I am an unnecessarily aggressive person. Just when we had finished eating and were putting our lunch boxes back into our bags, Lopa took it into her head to fling my bag out of my reach. (Readers, please keep this piece of information in mind. She is taller than I am and has longer legs.) I scowled at her and ran to get the bag that lay in the other corner of the room. She reached before I did and in some strange fit of perverseness, grabbed it and threw it out of my reach again. This sequence of action took place two more times.

By then, I was feeling what any self-respecting individual would feel—sheer breath stopping, blood pulsing, nerve throbbing anger. I stopped going after the bag. I just turned around and walked towards her. This being a break from the sequence we had been following till then, left her a little clueless. I walked up to her very deliberately, stopped a couple of inches away from her, bent down, and bit her on the fleshy part of the arm.

I must give credit to Lops’ vocal chord because the wail she let out was enough to bring back to life several dead bodies. Our class teacher, who had been peacefully talking to another class teacher, and several other teachers, ayas, children from our class and neighboring classes, and everyone within the range of at least a hundred yards came running. Both of us, I remember, were a little taken aback by this unexpected attention. To be fair, Lops did not say anything except to continue howling and rubbing her arm. Our class teacher pushed back her shirt sleeve, saw the marks, correctly deduced that she couldn’t have bitten herself, saw me in proximity, and drew her conclusions.

I still think it was unfair that she did not ask the whys and wherefores. She summoned our parents, told my parents what a wildcat I was, and apologized to Lops’ mother for letting this happen to her. We, Lops and I, failed to explain to all that this was needless, and we would have resolved the matter ourselves.

Even today, Lops is fond of telling people who meet us together for the first time that I had bitten her once, very long ago…

How Lops and I found each other after 18 years is another post I must write.