When we were younger, we used to sit outside on a low ledge in the school courtyard and share our lunch. Tasneem had this multi coloured chequered poncho - it was black, red, blue and yellow - well, those are the only colours I can see on it when I close my eyes now and see the two of us sitting there trading one peanut butter sandwich for one cheese one (I HATED peanut butter, still do). Strangely enough, we would find each other at every break-time even though during class time we never really socialised.
Tasneem was always so immaculately dressed (she still is, to this day), even in our frumpy school uniforms, she managed to always look so polished and put together! I used to feel like the grubby poor relation sitting next to her even though we were usually wearing the exact same thing (save for that beloved poncho). Tasneem's been wearing glasses from an early age too, and it only added to her status as the 'smartest kid in the class'. Sitting next to her every day, I always pinched myself, wondering, "why does she want to sit next to me?!" (this, loyal readers, was a time before I came into my own). I'm not really sure how our friendship began. If anyone had to ask what our first encounter was, I wouldn't be able to tell them. And if anyone asked me when it was that we truly became friends who shared their secrets and helped each other with homework - instead of mere lunch buddies - I wouldn't be able to tell them that either. I can pinpoint the day exactly when D and I crossed that invisible line from Mortal Enemies to Best Friends Forever; or the day I realised that Bob was someone I definitely wasn't going to let go of any time soon; I can't tell you when it was that Tasneem and I clicked. All that matters, is that we did.
As the years passed, my circle of friends grew larger, but there are really only three of them who I can still count as my very close ones. It's amazing, how at that age, friendships are made and broken on an almost daily basis. Our politics back then were so uncomplicated and fickle: you didn't lend me your colour pencils, so we can't be friends; you have the same pencil case as me, lets be best friends!; you can't sit next to me at lunch because you don't let me see your homework...oh looking back, it's amazing how we all managed to navigate our little classroom on a daily basis - making alliances, breaking bonds, best friends forever for a day and a half. I had a separate friendship with each of them (D, Bob and Tasneem), but we never went through all those petty grade-school squabbles. I had many other friends, with whom I did play the game of child-hood politics, but never with those three. By the time we reached high school, I was always sitting next to either one of them. And by our final years Bob, Tasneem and I were found to be nearly inseparable during school hours.
Tasneem was our anchor. The one who brought us back down to earth every time Bob and I decided to tour the galaxy in our heads or got too carried away discussing some nonsensical topic: like the existence of evil pixies. She was the one who reminded us about assignments and tests; who pulled out her books and went, "right lets see what you're having trouble with". I know not a lot of people were fans of Tasneem; I know a lot of people resented her for her 'teachers pet status'; I know too, that Tasneem didn't care. I admired her for that. I still do. She is one of the most intelligent people I know (and just so you know, I have a knack of surrounding myself with those. I'm freaking talented like that). She was always the one who would be there for us, but never needed us to be there for her. I don't think I ever saw Tasneem depressed, or on the verge of hysterics. Sure, she PMS'd (like massively!), but she didn't do it often. We loved her for it all the more I think, because we loved taking the piss out of her for it every time. Space brownies; air guitar; glass carriages; catwalks of Milan; creative artworks; owls; sunshine; sandwiches; brad pitt; the sound of music; blue skies; books; laughter; morality; beauty; religion; confidence; loyalty; bowling; poncho's; PIN POPS! Dear World, you have no idea what a wonderful person she is. Tasneem always gives more of herself than she takes from others.
I'm telling you about her, because she deserves to be read about. It's not always that someone loses a dearly loved one, like a parent, and smiles and says, "It's what God willed. He's in a better place." Even though it's what we should all say and believe, it's not always that we do; not always that we are able to mourn in quiet dignity; not always are we able hide our pain even from those who want to help us, just because it might distress them; it's not always that we can console others when it is us who experience the loss...but Tasneem can. Tasneem does.
We weren't there for her the one time she probably needed us the most. We didn't read the signs. We let her go through the hurt and grief of watching someone you love slip away from you, alone. We didn't know.
"I didn't want to tell you," she said to me when I held her tight, "I didn't want to tell you, because I didn't want your pity. I needed you to be yourself - I needed you to make me smile; you gave me what I needed."
And that is why, I had to tell you about her. I had to somehow find a way to freeze-frame the Tasneem I grew up with, because she's in danger of disappearing. Maybe it's selfish of me, but I want that Tasneem who ran around shrieking at us in glee, stuffing ice down our backs, to stick around a little longer. I could see it in her eyes, glassy and bright, as she squeezed my hand and tried to reassure me that she was ok. She was still being Tasneem - but a version that made me sad. Sad, because it was the first time I was seeing this new her, even though she'd been in plain sight for quite some time. Sad because we were so blind. She loved us no less for it and we couldn't help loving her all the more.
Tasneem was always so immaculately dressed (she still is, to this day), even in our frumpy school uniforms, she managed to always look so polished and put together! I used to feel like the grubby poor relation sitting next to her even though we were usually wearing the exact same thing (save for that beloved poncho). Tasneem's been wearing glasses from an early age too, and it only added to her status as the 'smartest kid in the class'. Sitting next to her every day, I always pinched myself, wondering, "why does she want to sit next to me?!" (this, loyal readers, was a time before I came into my own). I'm not really sure how our friendship began. If anyone had to ask what our first encounter was, I wouldn't be able to tell them. And if anyone asked me when it was that we truly became friends who shared their secrets and helped each other with homework - instead of mere lunch buddies - I wouldn't be able to tell them that either. I can pinpoint the day exactly when D and I crossed that invisible line from Mortal Enemies to Best Friends Forever; or the day I realised that Bob was someone I definitely wasn't going to let go of any time soon; I can't tell you when it was that Tasneem and I clicked. All that matters, is that we did.
As the years passed, my circle of friends grew larger, but there are really only three of them who I can still count as my very close ones. It's amazing, how at that age, friendships are made and broken on an almost daily basis. Our politics back then were so uncomplicated and fickle: you didn't lend me your colour pencils, so we can't be friends; you have the same pencil case as me, lets be best friends!; you can't sit next to me at lunch because you don't let me see your homework...oh looking back, it's amazing how we all managed to navigate our little classroom on a daily basis - making alliances, breaking bonds, best friends forever for a day and a half. I had a separate friendship with each of them (D, Bob and Tasneem), but we never went through all those petty grade-school squabbles. I had many other friends, with whom I did play the game of child-hood politics, but never with those three. By the time we reached high school, I was always sitting next to either one of them. And by our final years Bob, Tasneem and I were found to be nearly inseparable during school hours.
Tasneem was our anchor. The one who brought us back down to earth every time Bob and I decided to tour the galaxy in our heads or got too carried away discussing some nonsensical topic: like the existence of evil pixies. She was the one who reminded us about assignments and tests; who pulled out her books and went, "right lets see what you're having trouble with". I know not a lot of people were fans of Tasneem; I know a lot of people resented her for her 'teachers pet status'; I know too, that Tasneem didn't care. I admired her for that. I still do. She is one of the most intelligent people I know (and just so you know, I have a knack of surrounding myself with those. I'm freaking talented like that). She was always the one who would be there for us, but never needed us to be there for her. I don't think I ever saw Tasneem depressed, or on the verge of hysterics. Sure, she PMS'd (like massively!), but she didn't do it often. We loved her for it all the more I think, because we loved taking the piss out of her for it every time. Space brownies; air guitar; glass carriages; catwalks of Milan; creative artworks; owls; sunshine; sandwiches; brad pitt; the sound of music; blue skies; books; laughter; morality; beauty; religion; confidence; loyalty; bowling; poncho's; PIN POPS! Dear World, you have no idea what a wonderful person she is. Tasneem always gives more of herself than she takes from others.
I'm telling you about her, because she deserves to be read about. It's not always that someone loses a dearly loved one, like a parent, and smiles and says, "It's what God willed. He's in a better place." Even though it's what we should all say and believe, it's not always that we do; not always that we are able to mourn in quiet dignity; not always are we able hide our pain even from those who want to help us, just because it might distress them; it's not always that we can console others when it is us who experience the loss...but Tasneem can. Tasneem does.
We weren't there for her the one time she probably needed us the most. We didn't read the signs. We let her go through the hurt and grief of watching someone you love slip away from you, alone. We didn't know.
"I didn't want to tell you," she said to me when I held her tight, "I didn't want to tell you, because I didn't want your pity. I needed you to be yourself - I needed you to make me smile; you gave me what I needed."
And that is why, I had to tell you about her. I had to somehow find a way to freeze-frame the Tasneem I grew up with, because she's in danger of disappearing. Maybe it's selfish of me, but I want that Tasneem who ran around shrieking at us in glee, stuffing ice down our backs, to stick around a little longer. I could see it in her eyes, glassy and bright, as she squeezed my hand and tried to reassure me that she was ok. She was still being Tasneem - but a version that made me sad. Sad, because it was the first time I was seeing this new her, even though she'd been in plain sight for quite some time. Sad because we were so blind. She loved us no less for it and we couldn't help loving her all the more.
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