Friends Vs. F*** Buddies

So there are friends, and there are f**k buddies.

By friends, I mean all of my FIVE friends (give or take a few): people I have shared rooms and closets with, people I can call at any hour, people who have helped me move and move on, people who have cooked horrible food and forced it down my throat, people who have carried me home when I was drunk and people who have wheeled me to the hospital when I couldn’t walk…well, people who ARE JUST ALWAYS THERE AND WON”T LEAVE ME ALONE…

And then there are people (in this particular case, a girl) with whom I had awesome chemistry (in a completely non-lesbian context), with whom I shared some wonderful (albeit a few) moments in college, talking about the most random stuff. Even though she wasn’t a part of my everyday life, she had all the rights a friend has (including turning up at my room at midnight and planting herself on my bed because she suddenly wanted ‘to talk’ as I yawned away to glory or singing ‘masakali’ till my head was about to explode)…

But that was two years back. We both left college and promptly lost touch, till yesterday, when she suddenly pinged me from nowhere (in her usual ‘invisible’ mode). After our usual sarcastic exchanges, she started with her probing questions, as I unceremoniously dismissed them on grounds that she no longer had any right to my personal space. So her counterargument was, “Like it or not, we are f**k buddies, if you leave out the f**k part. Now come off your high horse, and TALK.”

And there we were, in another of our 30-minute exchanges, back to the old times.

The ‘masakali girl’, who has all the rights, and none of the responsibilities, and yes, we are f**k buddies…