Triveni Journal

1927 | 11,233,916 words

Triveni is a journal dedicated to ancient Indian culture, history, philosophy, art, spirituality, music and all sorts of literature. Triveni was founded at Madras in 1927 and since that time various authors have donated their creativity in the form of articles, covering many aspects of public life....

Beware, Friends are Coming!

Vemaraju Narasimha Rao

With nearly seven decades of my existence on this good earth, I must admit that I had gathered innumerable friends, very good friends and very very good friends, not to mention the numerous other acquaintances. On a cool introspection, it is surprising how few are left that can be called really good friends.

You can straightaway ignore that class of time-servers who have some work with you and necessarily will always make it a point to raise you to unreachable heights in their lavish praise. These can be very easily spotted and while you appear flattered at their unabashed admiration for the things you have done or not done, you will certainly be not taken in for a ride.

Bhartruhari, the famous sage, classified people into four classes. With a little minor variation, this can apply to friends also. Those that leave their work for doing a good turn to you are, of course, the best. Those that continue to attend to their needs in addition to yours are good. Those that can positively ditch you for their personal ends are of course bad. But can you name the class of friends who make it a point to harm you though it does not do them any good? Bhartruhari could not name them. Nor can I.

A classmate of mine in my school days, who was maintaining his widowed mother with the help of his uncle by way of selling idlies in the morning part-time, touched me for a fabulous amount of one rupee (capes, in those days a rupee was indeed fabulous!) as a loan and it was not repaid. When my other buddies caught the defaulter by the scruff of his neck, he raised such a hell in the school premises that I had to write off the loan, feeling ashamed and embarrassed at having offended such a poor creature. Poverty, even in those days, was at a high premium!

I was successfully fooled by the multitudes of my mates who visited my house dutifully for the usual round of football. Not many, however, played the game though, as the team manager, I had to stand them sodas and nuts. It took me several years later to realise why they were gathering at my place. The reason was not far to seek, considering that we were the tenants in the house of the School Beauty!

Even in my college days and later when I was on my own, I was pampering several colleagues of mine with generous hospitality, often times foregoing even my meals, in the true spirit of socialism which no one understood then. Where are you, folks, and how I wish we had met again and exchanged notes!

I remember when I was in the Law College. I had to undertake the job of a campaign manager for the election of a lady who was a friend of my friend. Strictly according to the code of Machiavilli, she became instantly my friend and I look her to each and every student, soliciting their votes for the beaming, dumb dame beside me. It so happened, as luck would have it, that both the contestants got equal votes and no amount of persuasion and cajoling on the part of the benign principal to choose one of them for the high office yielded any result. Both of them, the mail and the woman, did not budge and refused to forego their right of being an office bearer when the electorate so clearly favoured them. How could they? They had their eyes riveted firmly on the college blazers and the amount invested in the election. Ultimately, it was agreed that both of them would have the blazers and they would share the term. Once the blazers were there, the good lady ceased to be friends and that was the last I had seen of her. Perhaps I could not blame her either, for the days I was present in the college could be counted on fingers.

I can elaborate on some of my lady friends, but refrain from doing so as the Seer had very sagaciously advised - ‘Leave the women alone!’ They can land you in more problems than you can dream off! So, I leave them alone!

There was a great - shall we call him bosom! (I haven’t checked up his bosom any way) friend of mine, who manoeuvred me into parting with my rifle, the only thing that I inherited from my dear father - a Winchester 1904 - for pittance of Rs. 500. The provocation for my parting with it was that I had been toying with the idea of having a revolver!. The moment he got hold of the rifle, he turned my bitterest critic -I cannot call him an enemy for, by definition, I have no enemies. Of course, the money promised was never paid. Please don’t tell my wife; she will be terribly unhappy! She does not know as yet. When, on second thoughts, I begged him to return it for another one, he mentioned about his scrupulous principle of not returning anything he got from others which came understandably in his way. The result: The rifle is gone for good. The expected revolver did not materialise, its cost being prohibitive. I am now the proud non-­owner of even an air-gun. Good luck, my friend!

Even in my extra-curricular activities - ­indeed there were many - my experience is no different. Much against the theory of some to have a closed circuit and not allowing any strangers into the fold for fear of getting hurt by them, my views on organisational matters are more liberal. We try new comers as we still do and those who continue to be loyal and helpful are continued on a sub-pro-tem basis. Those that were active in yester-years continue to expect the same attention and consideration during their inactivity also and there lies the rub. This is clearly an impossible job unless one wants to carry a lot of deadwood along. They naturally become sore at the thanklessness and turn into bitter critics overnight and do not have any qualms about hitting you when an occasion arises. Such occasions have fortunately been rare and we had hell of a time hibernating before things could be sorted out and put on an even keel. The experience taught us volumes in public relations and management studies. Once bitten, we are twice shy. We are much more choosy now.

Solid friendships are often built over a game of cards or having a round or two of your
favourite drink. I must confess that some of my most cherished friendships are made over a game of Bridge or a good Scotch. There were of course innumerable others who gather around to enjoy a free drink or ask for personal favours when you are in a favourable mood! But, you know where you stand with them and have nothing to be afraid of them.

The trouble comes later with those that profess lifelong partnership with you now that your interests matched with theirs and then ditch you. This is the quarter from which you least expect any attack and in an unguarded moment, you get clean bowled. I have come across some remarkable specimens of this genre who would out-run most in the field by a very good length.

Some derive vicious and vicarious pleasure in seeing you in hot waters for which they contribute in no mean measure if only to see how you get out of it, that is, if at all you can! I have a classic specimen who boasted of being a reporter of a national daily and enjoyed my hospitality at a certain District Town almost everyday while all along carrying tales behind my to those above. One has to be vary with this dangerous and deceptive lot.

But, do I have any regrets over my royal collection of friends? No, Sir. Even if you could spot one single soul that is genuinely concerned about you and understanding, the ninety-nine other are well-worth the trouble of putting up with. I must say also, to set the records straight, that I have been fortunate in having had some remarkably good friends who stood the test of time. I feel grateful to the Good Lord what I could have missed but for my habit of making friends with all and sundry.

I distinctly recollect a friend of mine together with whom I celebrated welcoming the Independence of our country way in 1947, who got hold of my address after contacting the Editor of the journal which was serialising my articles and at his invitation I went to his place to re-live the warmth of his love and affection after a gap of forty years. Then there was another friend who was my old buddy in the college: who wanted to confirm about me from my photo which appeared in a newspaper only to revive the good old memories and re-start our relations where we left fifty years .

Such incidents add pep and charm to the otherwise dull drudgery of everyday life. Such friends lift your spirits up and make life more meaningful.

Thank you Brothers, for making life sweet and worth living! You are the real reason why I do not run for my dear life when Friends are coming!

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