I’m Sorry, Friend

I’m sorry, friend. I’m sorry if I backed out of the video call we had painstakingly planned. I’m sorry I couldn’t reminisce all those times we spent together laughing our asses off on the streets of Bangalore, walking over each other’s feet, stumbling, hoping to have ice-cream in the middle of the night, half-drunk and delirious with joy.

I’m sorry I didn’t drink with you on the call like we had decided, smiling back at your face that frequently freezes on my insufficient and pitifully small screen. I’m sorry that the idea of us spending time through electronic devices hurts me more than not having any access to you, knowing I’m in your thoughts, and you’re in mine. You see, these moving images of you and our friends seem like nothing but apparitions to me. They are fake slivers of reality, normalcy, closeness.

They remind me of the birthday cake my Barbie doll used to serve to her guests. You couldn’t lick the icing off, you couldn’t take an actual bite out of it, you couldn’t taste it. Because it was plastic. A world of make-believe only fuelled by our hopeless optimism and imagination. I miss you, I really do. And in the cacophony of a group call where we all talk over each other, I didn’t want to miss you even more.

I didn’t want to know how terribly, painfully, tragically separated we all are from each other. I want to see your face up close, smell your perfume, feel the fabric of your new shirt, share a cold coffee, and hug you out of pure, distilled joy. Amidst the brigade of wide, overcompensating, happy smiles on my screen, I feel the distance between us expand all the more.