Borrowed

From the very first time I met Joel - way, way back in 1995, I knew that he was a special kid.

The only reason I am able to recollect specific events from those days is because my memory of Joel is associated with a sense of loss. 

It is unusual to have such emotions as a child but truthfully it's not really a sad memory, its actually beautiful in a way, perhaps that is why my mind hold on to it tightly even though so many years have gone by.

In 3-C-the loudest, most misbehaved of the three 3rd grade classrooms, Joel stood out like a sore thumb. 

Not for anything wrong, but for all the right reasons.

You see, 3-C was an anarchic class, I don't mean to peddle a conspiracy theory here, but for the longest time I have held that the principal and his deputies had purposefully filled 3-C with the biggest misfits that had applied to the school in the preceding years. Yes, not all of us were 8 years old, Alagarajan the paper eater was clearly older, he was nearly 5 ft tall, and he literally believed books were to be digested. Then there was Deepak, clearly a 30 year old pervert trapped in a much younger body, his repertoire of jokes could make even the most seasoned of comedians run for cover.

All 30 of us in 3-C shared a bond, you know, the kind of relationship that is forged in isolation when your fellow 3rd graders in 3-A and 3-B don't treat you with the love and respect you deserve.

I believe the only reason Joel was put in our class was because he started a month late, and there was no room for him elsewhere.

His shirt collar was a shade of white that we only saw in pictures, the long sleeved navy blue sweater he wore to school come rain or shine had no holes in them and his black Bata shoes looked brand new every day, so much so that Sunil swore he could comb his spiky hair with just the reflection from them.

Joel and his brother were dropped off and picked up from school everyday in a chauffeured sparkling blue Fiat, he had such a beautiful smile and not to sound weird but he smelled like a million bucks, like a little baby does.

His bag was filled with things we did not know existed, a pencil box that looked like a piano with real keys that made sounds when pressed was by far my favorite. 

We loved him because in-spite of clearly being in a league of his own, Joel did his best to be one of us. 

He even lent his prized pencil box to me for one day, and when the keys stopped making music after I had pressed on them for the hundredth time that evening I feared Joel would hate me when I returned it to him the next day.

He didn't. He just smiled, in the same beautiful way that we had come to love, he blamed it on the battery and flung it into his bag.

Having Joel in our class validated our existence, for an entire year we didn't feel inferior to the snobs in 3-A and 3-B, their judgmental stares didn't bother us when they passed by us as we stood outside the classroom banished for not doing our home work or for giggling at one of Deepak's dirty jokes.

Joel and I had one thing in common, we sucked in most outdoor sports, especially the ones that involved running, so.... basically, we sucked in 'all' outdoor sports.

We were often left unpicked or assigned score keeping tasks and Joel would sometimes come and stand next to me talking about a life he once knew, a school in Canada that he attended to before coming to Bangalore, foods with names that I couldn't pronounce and so forth. I didn't make much of all this because all that mattered was that Joel was now in my city and the two of us were going to be best friends forever.

Then one day, he stopped coming to class.

The first day I thought he took a chapter from Arun Kumar's book i.e. He had probably woken up complaining of a fever and a sore throat to his anxious mother who then, for his well being asked him to stay at home. Even for a child, Arun fell ill way too often, one might even say he did it on purpose to skip school, if the alternative were to be believed he would have had more erythromycin running through his veins than hemoglobin.

One day turned into a week, but there was no sign of him or the blue fiat that his chauffeur spent hours driving curious children away from on a daily basis.

Around the same time as fate would have it, unbeknownst to me I developed progressively worsening jaundice and my concerned teachers gave me 4 weeks off to recover, time that was no solicited but greatly appreciated by a child who enjoyed staring aimlessly at the birds and the trees outside vastly more than the greenish blue giant chalkboard that graced the front of our classroom.

When I returned Joel had still not returned. My classmates were not as excited to see me as I had hoped but they still believed (like I did) that Joel was coming back soon.

'There's no way he is missing the final exams" Sunil emphatically stated, fondling his now messy tuft of spiky hair that stood up straight like an antenna at the back of his head.

But when he didn't show up for the English test a few days later, I knew my fears had turned into reality, Joel was not coming back to school. 

I drowned my sorrow of missing him in the eventful summer vacation that followed but when most of us returned 2 months later to 4-C the name Joel was missing from the daily roll call.

A few months passed and out of the blue one morning I saw Joel's car parked outside the principals office, my heart leaped when I saw his chauffeur and I ran up to him. 

"Are Joel and his brother coming back?" I asked him excitedly. 

"No". he said curtly.

"Joe baba's father was reinstated to his old job in Canada, and they left the city in a hurry, I just came by to get some forms filled that the school there needed for the children".

"Sorry" he said before hopping into the drivers seat and speeding away.

As I waited outside the school office building, a really old, oblong structure with whitewashed clay bricks for walls and a thatched roof which looked like it would fly off with the mildest breeze, I stared dejectedly at the hibiscus flowers blooming in the garden outside, feeling sad, very sad.

That afternoon I was suspiciously quiet on the drive back home with dad, he knew something was wrong.

"Did you swallow a frog Thomas". He asked, breaking the silence.

I waited a few moments before responding

"Do you remember Joel Dad"? I asked him.

"Of course" Dad said nodding his head. "His chauffeur thought driving that car meant owning the country" He laughed to himself 

"What about him"?

"He just left dad. Went to Canada I hear, didn't say a word". I complained.

"No he didn't". Dad replied.

"You remember the time you took off to  rest when you had jaundice".

"Yes", I said. Of course I remember, if not for Joel I would have put turmeric in my eyes to make it look like I were still jaundiced.

"I came here to talk to your class teacher and I met the kid and his dad". Dad said carefully navigating the crowded narrow streets leading home.

"Turns out he was looking for you to say farewell before leaving. And then, he reached into his bag and pulled out that fancy pencil box that you broke. He wanted it to be some kind of parting gift for you. Im sorry. I should have told you". He said slowing down to a stop at the traffic light.

"What"? I asked, almost shouting. Partly angry because dad had completely forgotten to tell me about this incident and partly sad because he reminded me of the fact that I had ruined the most special feature of the box.

"Why didn't you take the box"? Dad I screamed.

Keeping his eyes on the road and very calmly my father replied "Because everything that is borrowed must one day be returned son".

I remember this very vividly because this quote is one of Dad's favorites. He would repeat this over and over again to us as we grew up, I would learn later that the idea was to impress on us the value of good stewardship, the task of taking care of someone else's property. In this specific example I had not been a good steward of Joel's pencil box, so, I had no right to expect being entrusted with it again.

I sulked for days, doing everything in my power to show my dad how upset I was with him, but in my heart of hearts there was also a sense of relief, my dear friend hadn't just abandoned me, he came back to see me.

As the incessant winter rains of the Pacific Northwest commenced 2 months ago, I found myself in a deeply contemplative mood, lost in my thoughts about the brevity of life. Eventually I found myself thinking about my childhood and I focussed my thoughts on all the friends I could remember from as long ago as possible, and lo and behold there was little Joel, in all his baby smelling glory, wearing his favorite long sleeved navy blue sweater.

I very quickly dismissed the thought of looking for him online, I do not remember Joel's last name and there is simply no way on earth that I will find him again, this is just a truth that I have to live with. 

Back in 1995 as far as I was concerned there was only one Joel that mattered, I didnt know nor did I care about the millions of other Joel's out there. 

My memories of him were all that were left of that wonderful friendship.

And suddenly I felt extremely sad as another absolute fact slapped me straight across my face.

It dawned on me that with every passing year my memories would slowly but surely fade away, till eventually my mind is wiped clean of everything it once held dear. 

Like a loud gong the words 'Everything borrowed must one day be returned' resounded in my head, and I realized in that very moment how every single thing around and within me were borrowed entities that I must one day return.

My health, my mental faculties, my thoughts, all of my accomplishments and belongings for whatever little they are worth don't really belong to me, there is a time stamp on every little thing including my life itself and the dials on that clock don't stop, not for one moment even as I am writing these very words down.

While this realization led to sadness at the start, it has been a cause for deep seated peace in my soul lately.

When I find myself troubled internally or by the world that surrounds me I draw my attention to focus on all the good things that I have in my life now, my friends, my family, my health and I remind myself that all of these things like Joels friendship and his beautiful piano pencil box have been borrowed to me by forces that will one day ask for them back. 

We are all working with borrowed time and perhaps the most important act of good stewardship is striving to make the best of our time here and finding joy in everything that life hands to us, even if its all just borrowed and fleeting.

Until next time,

TGV