He taught me the art of giving. I was always bewildered by how he could be so selfless, full of life. I feel absolutely floored now. It’s a terrible feeling. I recently wished a very old friend of mine happy birthday on Facebook, only to get a reply from his sister saying, thanks for the wishes—may he rest in peace. I was shocked, and when I asked what had happened, she told me that my friend had died in December, after battling cancer. He was my age, in his twenties—a beautiful soul who always wanted the best for everyone. I met him in school around eight years ago, and I have vague memories of him. I remember him being extremely sweet, someone who always smiled and shared anything that came his way. He was not much of a regular guy, though. And I remember us (a bunch of girls) differentiating him from all the other wannabe-tough guys. He was helpful and cheerful. But only now, that he was no more with us, did I come to know that he was suffering from acute lymphoblastic leukemia, a strange type of blood-cancer, and that he had been battling the disease for the past seven years.

After learning about his passing away, I spent almost half a day scrolling down his Facebook wall. I found myself trying to collect bits and pieces of his life, his feelings and information about him. I found that he had been battling cancer since school itself. And then like a missing piece out of a jigsaw puzzle, what I’d known of him became more vivid. As I tried to recall his presence, I could relate to the events—why he was feeling unwell and frequently visited doctors back in school too. And it also seemed that he did not disclose his cancer to others—other than his dear ones (as his status suggested). As I was scrolling through his Facebook timeline, I felt like I was observing him in minute detail. It seemed he did really spend good deal of time with his family because the last pictures posted were mostly of him and his family members. I was not his closest of friends, but I think I miss his ever-present smile and calming personality; I came to realise that in life we don’t spend enough time talking to people, greeting them, getting to know them, giving them compliments and telling them that they are amazing human beings. I realise we have become stubbornly selfish, always looking out for our self-interests. Perhaps, that is what society teaches us—that we must get ahead or someone else will; but today I wonder about the battles people must be fighting in their lives and how selfish we must have become to not notice.

I have more than a thousand friends on Facebook, some that I know well, some that I wish to know and some that are just acquaintances. Some used to be good friends that I’ve lost contact with, some used to be people I wasn’t quite fond of. Today, as his death sinks in, I can feel my stomach knotting up because of the fear, the nervousness, the bitter reality check; I don’t know what it is! All I know is that it doesn’t feel right.  At all.  I realise that the knowing or the not knowing, the past or the present, the egos that withhold us from being nice to others don’t matter. When something terrible like death happens, you begin to wonder what you could have done to make that person’s life better. You find yourself wishing you’d spent a little more time with them, and wishing you’d been there, giving them the support they needed. A particular quote by Plato strikes me right now. “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle”. I wished I could have spoken to him at least one last time. I thought, only if I had known about his condition, or if I had been a good friend from school, I would have known it all and I would have done what it takes to at least make him feel better. 

If I actually had one last chance to talk to him right now, I would ask him to recall something that would probably have long forgotten. I would ask him to recall one particular midterm break in school, and how he had helped me and a group of other classmates with subjects we were struggling with; for me it was mathematics (mostly algebra and geometry). We talked and shared and laughed, and as I said, he was there, eager to help, mo matter what. I was not too gregarious then and was mostly suffered from low self-esteem. We were mostly ‘Hi-and-bye” friends. But that memory particularly 

stands out to me because he was different. He enjoyed sharing, and the clarity in his eyes and his contagious smile brought a lightness and smile to my face.

Thank you, my friend, for your kind eyes and kinder heart. You might have never known, but you made the battles I was fighting so much easier to fight then. Thank you for touching my life.