Life has been one hell of a journey, thus far. It has been one hell of a ride, hi and lo it has been fun.
Jut the other day, traveling in the auto, I saw a guy in a BMW with what seemed to be a bird’s nest in place of his hair. He seemed to be of an average height, fair completion, wearing specs, and tapping along on the driving wheel to the beats of the jazz song playing softly in his car stereo. That was not what caught my eye, but the fact that he looked a lot like a close friend I have known for years.
I remember the time, when we all would sit on his terrace and look at the setting sun, with Tracy Chapman playing softly.
And there was this other time; when the four of us were going to Lajpat Nagar. En route to Fender On Stage, he parked his car and told us to get out, as we were in the other part of Lajpat Nagar, we had no idea why. Quietly leading the way, he took us to a grocery store, where he purchased about 10 packets of Lays chips. Asking us to help him out with the food, he carried few and walked on, coming to this ‘Aaloo Tikki’ wallah and one could see loads of rag picker kids, roaming around, begging for food and money from the people who had just spent not less than 30 rupees on snacks. And ironically, none of them had change to spare money for the poor hungry kids. Seeing Hari walking towards them, they came running and stood all around us giggling and smiling. Something, one doesn’t get too see often on a poor kids face. Handing each one of them the chips he sat next to them on the foot path and started chit chatting, and the other three of us realized, this was something he does often, which was confirmed when he asked us “who is coming back here with me next Tuesday?” “These kids don’t get to eat much, and people don’t really care about them. They are beaten up by the thullas, and make barely anything, with no parents they have nothing to do. I try my best to keep them away from drugs, and get those chips/ ghar ka khaana from time to time. Make me feel am a good person inside.”
Those ‘chatt pe tandoor’, impromptu jams, bus rides, chilling scenes, those so called intellectual talks about life, death and spirituality…listening to you playing drums, discovering new music. Most of it still happens, but it feels a little empty with you not around and sort of no interference from anyone asking “anyone up for momo’s?”
“I wonder what happens when we die” said Shaan. “Reincarnation, you bitch.” I said. “That I know, but what happens in between? Are we alive? Can we feel anything, or are we alive yet dead?” Hari entered the room and after listening to our conversation, he interrupted- “Why talk about death and not living? Why don’t we talk about living? I mean agar mai marr gaya
It has been about a year since he passed away, I remember the date, 16th February, 2010. And I know what followed afterwards for us all, but we all also remember, what he said once, “agar mai marr gaya
And, as he would want it, we celebrate his life every day, every time we jam, every time we chill at the Quila. Sometimes we pause for a second missing him, but there is always a smile, when we think about him.
I don’t cry because I lost a close friend, I smile that I knew him, though sometimes I feel bad that, Disha didn’t get to meet him.
In memory of Vidita hariharan 17th February 1989- 16th February 2010.
You will be missed.
PS: Radhika, if you read this, don’t kill me. Shaan if you read this, you still suck.
