Editor's comment
06 October, 2011

Strange as it might sound, the long years of my life have failed to teach me what this feeling and performance thereupon means exactly. I have certainly been through many of them over the crossroads of my overwrought existence – some dead and gone forever and some still lingering on as they can.
In certain friendships I have delivered with impeccable faith, in some of them I used to be lackadaisical, sometimes – short of enthusiasm to carry on, and

in some cases I had just fled the battle-field. But there are few, very few memorable ones which I have elevated to the level of ideal deliverance. And within these few, I have singled out the ones for which I was and I am still ready to sacrifice with anything there is about me – giving but not taking, helping but not asking, sharing but not demanding. I have made it a golden rule of my life not to ever expect any moral compensation for the Good Samaritan deeds I could afford to execute at various times. I have done all that with open heart and salubrious mind without even a vestige of an afterthought about any remuneration. I am not saying that I am an angel – I have often failed to emerge as perfectly honest and pure as I had wanted to see myself, but all those faulty moves might be placed in the category of venial sins. The only latently molded inner demand I sustained within the depths of my soul towards my friends was the readiness to maintain faith and sense of selfless dedication to my goals as I felt for theirs – just readiness, the desire to deliver, the will to act when asked for. Was this too much? I am not prepared to stigmatize myself as a ‘frustrated friend’, but part of me is hurting real bad when recognizing that my faith is not commensurate with the faith of a friend. And this kind of a betrayal has had a proclivity to happen every now and then in the course of my more or less lengthy living. And I became vulnerable as a consequence. And I started facing broken nights and maligned days. And chagrin was taking precedence over the joy. What the hell is this, I wonder. What is that insurmountable warped ego doing with those wonderful men and women I had once confided in so unreservedly? You might ask what kind of friendship I would like to adopt if I were starting all over again as if I were in my teens. Hard to answer, but I will try anyway. I cherish a friend who hurts when I hurt and bleeds when I bleed, has no axe to grind, loves as purely as I do, is poised to protect me from evil even if he can’t, wants to keep it up so that we both feel at ease, ready to listen and share, desiring only good even if not able to deliver, armed to serve my cause even if not capable of performing accordingly. No doubt, I am ready to be exactly the same way. As a matter of fact, I have rarely deviated from this ideal standard in friendship. Don’t you think that friends are not only to be used? They need to be taken care of too. Shall we call it mutuality? No, not as simple as that! I would call it equal faith and mutual sense of sacrifice. Otherwise, don’t even try to wrap and sell it as a piece of friendship, OK?