The year is 1992. My best friend is Arnold and he is everything I could aspire to be: smarter, funnier and loved. Although there are many instances I recall vividly about our time together from kindergarten to second standard—his family moved to Bhayandar soon after—my favourite remains the time we spent during the summer vacation of ‘92. I used to go to his place and spend almost the entire day, playing various indoor games, mostly upstairs, in the balcony. If you ask me to define perfection, I would point to those moments spent together with him—along with his charming parents and adorable elder sister Ruby—without a hint of worry from the real world that existed outside that balcony. A day before they left, he hugged me tightly and cried, and then I started crying, and then we both looked like idiots who didn’t know that they were never going to meet again.
The joy of wasting time together
The joy of wasting time together
The joy of wasting time together
The year is 1992. My best friend is Arnold and he is everything I could aspire to be: smarter, funnier and loved. Although there are many instances I recall vividly about our time together from kindergarten to second standard—his family moved to Bhayandar soon after—my favourite remains the time we spent during the summer vacation of ‘92. I used to go to his place and spend almost the entire day, playing various indoor games, mostly upstairs, in the balcony. If you ask me to define perfection, I would point to those moments spent together with him—along with his charming parents and adorable elder sister Ruby—without a hint of worry from the real world that existed outside that balcony. A day before they left, he hugged me tightly and cried, and then I started crying, and then we both looked like idiots who didn’t know that they were never going to meet again.