And the story of Bams goes something like this..

Many a times I have mentioned stories of my friends. Each one of them has given me a reason to be happy or a lesson to learn for all the choices, good or bad, I’ve made in my life. However, there is this one person that I, for some very strange reason, have never made any effort to write about.

Picture this. The first person was always one of the taller girls in class with the routine swimming regime reflected in her broad physique and a touch of the northern gene from her maternal side giving her the rough edge that was totally unwanted in the first place. Now picture a second girl. This one was tiny with the most feminine of voices, an intelligent student with a handwriting to die for, until her language skills deteriorated to unknown alien tones in the times to come.

Two people from two extremes.

Little did they, or anyone else, know that as the years would go by, these two would form a bond that would seal a lifetime of ‘unadulterated’ friendship (if you know what I mean). No fakeness involved, just pure and sincere regard for each other. One that is an absolute rarity in today’s world. Now that I have given a rather glowing introduction to this particular friend, one needs no prizes for guessing that the former is I, while the latter is Bams. The nickname is actually a shorter title for Bam Pudki which means someone who is really short.

Bams and I go a long way. We made the journey from Section A to C just before the start of middle school. Back then, the little interaction I had with her involved birthday parties and school functions where we performed as a team. She was super smart to say the least. Elocutions and debates were her forte, but what took the cake was her record for being the most aggressive student of the school (notice how I quote ‘the school’ and not just our batch).

Somewhere in senior school, we started hanging out much more. I think it started with us sharing our lunch time together. Bams always brought a Tiffin, while my helper at home got us warm food during the lunch break. Once into our board year, we let go of that habit and switched to a more hip culture of carrying lunch money. It was then that I committed my first sin. The innocent Bengali classmate of ours always had Maggie missing from his lunch box and it wasn’t long before he found out who the two culprits were. Once caught, he tried his utmost best to hide his box in a variety of places, but just like a snake can detect heat emitting out of a prey’s body, Bams knew exactly where he would have hid them. Thus, every lunch break our Bengali babu had to make do with Rs 5/- in his pocket.

It was Bams once again who was behind my first (and only) slap from our seventh grade History teacher. I was laughing because Bams was throwing paper at the same Bengali kid whose tiffin we were to devour in the years to follow. My unaware teacher, who was giving us an important lesson, regarded my laughter as an insult so I was rewarded with a tight slap before being made to stand on the bench.

Getting a renowned duster shower clad in my school blazer also happened under Bam's esteemed company. The scene where our Chemistry teacher ran after me in the almost hall like classroom is ever so vivid in my head. Bams was seated rather comfortably, pointing at me and laughing. I don’t think the word sorry ever featured in her dictionary.

Over the years, Bams had many a fights with girls and boys alike. No physique could threaten her. Not even the almost Neanderthal-like boy from our section. She challenged, abused, slapped and kicked anyone who got in her way; so what if her legs could only reach up to her opponent’s knees in most cases. This might seem weird but I always felt safe in her company, even though it should have been the other way around. In our final year at school, she somewhat mellowed down. We were proud desk partners then. I say proud because two of us were the only girl prefects from our section. While we sang the School Silver Jubilee song towards the end of the Annual Play, I saw her cry. That was the only time I have ever seen her do so.

Once in college, if we were lucky, we saw each other annually for a brief while. For the next five years I was to have the same boyfriend. For the next five years, Bams was to visit me with a new boyfriend every six months. Sam, my then boyfriend, never quite understood who these strange men were. “Cy, now who was the new guy?” would be his standard question, every time she left.

The tall and the short girl then came to a point where both ended up in the UK. However, we were unable to forge a meeting. Some four years down the line, we finally got an opportunity to spend quality time together and, this time, it was back home. The first meeting was a quick one in a coffee shop in town. Updating each other on our lives didn’t take all that long really, thanks to the telephonic connection we had managed to keep alive despite the distance. The second meeting was at my place, with momos thrown in. If there is one person who can be entrusted with keeping the momo-mania alive, it has got to be her. Seen throughout school and on the road journey to the airport, Bams must have single handedly eaten more than a thousand pieces till date.

(to be continued..)