Yesterday I had friends over for dinner. The only thing these days that makes me feel human is cooking for close friends or family. Isn't that strange? I was so impressed when you learnt to make an omelette in Pune. I couldn't even boil water then.
I made a kumro-chingri and I was thinking about the time you were in New York and I was making pumpkin cupcakes. You were very wary of them, and said, "isn't pumpkin kumro?" Anyway, you ended up liking them, once you were over your deep suspicion of kumro in cakes.
In the last couple of years, I have learnt to make really good dimer devil. I wish, I could have made some for you. I think when we were in Bombay, you mentioned that your mother made them for her jamai. Or her mother made them for your dad. Can't remember, but someone in your family made them for a jamai. We were in Sanu's apartment and he had made scotch eggs, which started this conversation. I wish you could have gone to Goa with me, that year.
I was talking to Arpita the other day, and I mentioned that I had no regrets in our friendship. We were good to each other, and I think I was at good to you as I can be. But that's not entirely true. We were supposed to go to Goa together, and I regret not going to India that December and dragging you to Goa. We thought your cancer was gone, and that we would have more time.
When I talk to people, I sometime worry that I don't praise you enough. I worry that they think I dismiss your struggle with cancer. I don't want to remember you as a tragic hero or a brave cancer fighter. I want to remember you as my best friend. Heroes are a dime a dozen, best friends are much much rarer. When my hero, Ted Kennedy die, I felt sad for all of an hour. With you gone, I am just sad all the time.
I want to remember what made our friendship work. Who you were. The good and the imperfect that somehow made you the perfect best friend for me.
I want to remember how lucky you were. How eventually it usually worked out well for you. So if it's all the same to you, I want to miss my best friend, not a hero.
I made a kumro-chingri and I was thinking about the time you were in New York and I was making pumpkin cupcakes. You were very wary of them, and said, "isn't pumpkin kumro?" Anyway, you ended up liking them, once you were over your deep suspicion of kumro in cakes.
In the last couple of years, I have learnt to make really good dimer devil. I wish, I could have made some for you. I think when we were in Bombay, you mentioned that your mother made them for her jamai. Or her mother made them for your dad. Can't remember, but someone in your family made them for a jamai. We were in Sanu's apartment and he had made scotch eggs, which started this conversation. I wish you could have gone to Goa with me, that year.
I was talking to Arpita the other day, and I mentioned that I had no regrets in our friendship. We were good to each other, and I think I was at good to you as I can be. But that's not entirely true. We were supposed to go to Goa together, and I regret not going to India that December and dragging you to Goa. We thought your cancer was gone, and that we would have more time.
When I talk to people, I sometime worry that I don't praise you enough. I worry that they think I dismiss your struggle with cancer. I don't want to remember you as a tragic hero or a brave cancer fighter. I want to remember you as my best friend. Heroes are a dime a dozen, best friends are much much rarer. When my hero, Ted Kennedy die, I felt sad for all of an hour. With you gone, I am just sad all the time.
I want to remember what made our friendship work. Who you were. The good and the imperfect that somehow made you the perfect best friend for me.
I want to remember how lucky you were. How eventually it usually worked out well for you. So if it's all the same to you, I want to miss my best friend, not a hero.
