Losing friends

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She has a little face that sometimes gets lost when her thick tresses take over. She has a hesitant expression which marks a departure from the careless childish confidence that was her hallmark when she was younger. At twelve, Mahi is changing. She is not yet on the cusp of womanhood but she is getting confused about why her body is more girly and why she suddenly likes a bit of prettiness about her. I watch her without her knowing. I don’t have to look to know what she’s up to. I am her mother after all. She sits there lost in thought dreaming of something that I have no part in. If she feels my eyes on her she will smile. Sometimes she will come and give me a hug. Then we both get back to what we were doing. She doesn’t have to talk or hear me talk to feel loved.

The other day she came in looking unlike her cheery self. She had just gotten back from school and was tired and hot. I was brushing my hair and she plonked herself on the chair and watched me. I asked her if her day was alright. Why was she looking sad? She replied that no, it was not alright and the little face crumpled into tears. I didn’t go hug her. I only let her talk for a while as she followed me downstairs while I made a snack for her.

She told me her best ever friend in school was leaving. The friend who was so like her that everyone thought they were sisters. The friend who took care of her in school when she had a tummy ache. Her friend didn’t want to go. She didn’t want her friend to go. Everyone including the most popular boy in class was crying. She was heartbroken. Her skinny frame shook with the force of her sobs. I stroked her back and listened for a while. I then told her that yes it was very hard to lose a friend. It always is. It always will be. I asked her to imagine for a moment how much harder it would be on the other child who would lose not one, but all of her friends at a stroke. Also if they were very good friends, then they would find some way to keep in touch. They could go to each other’s houses. They could chat on the phone. They could go to other birthday parties together. And if she didn’t end up doing that, then she should accept that they both had learnt to make new friends. Even growing apart over time was okay. That was all part of being a big girl.

I don’t know how much of it she understood but she sat obediently and listened. She ate her food and went out to play. I checked on her as I sat working with Appu and doing my writing. She was still blue. I was also trying to finish making dinner and she followed me around the kitchen desultorily till I told her to sit on the counter. We would make ourselves some juice and talk. And that’s what we did.

I told her I wished I could take the sadness from her eyes because I could handle it. I told her that life would throw more painful lessons at her and I would not be able to protect her from that. I told her if I could I would keep her with me and fight all her battles for her but I could not. She would forget to be sad soon, despite how bad she felt now. In time, she would make more friends. In time, she would not feel hurt anymore. In time, she would have lots of memories with her friends to keep her smiling. And since she was so little, it would not take much time at all.

She was smiling halfway through our chat. She gave me a big hug and trotted off to set the table with her reluctant brother. Later at night when she came to hug me good night she thanked me and said “Amma, you always know how to make me feel better.”

I felt a sweet ache in my heart as I watched the lanky child go up to her room. I don’t know why that day my heart was as full as hers was. Perhaps I too was thinking of lost friends. Perhaps it was because I wanted so badly to make her feel good again that I wondered how long I would possess that magic. Would she not grow up very soon and see me as ordinary instead of this wonderful creature she loved to bits? Would I be able to sit and let her deal with her hurt herself when she grew into a young woman? It hurts to hold someone too close and it hurts even more to sit back and watch them learn. I hope my little one grows up to be strong and confident. That would be the best legacy I can leave her…