Sunshine and Friends

There are friendships that arrive like sunlight through a window. They warm the room without asking permission. Some time back I was honoured by the company of two such friends. They had bought a small piece of land not far from the orchard and were now planning to plant trees there. A job after my own heart. Anyone who wishes to plant a tree becomes an ally of the hills at once.

But the real joy of their visit lay not in the plans for saplings. It was in the laughter and the strangely beautiful disorder that good company brings. The first evening set the tone. We settled down for dinner, and one of them suddenly declared a desire to listen to Bappi Lahiri. The way he enjoyed himself was delightful to watch. There he sat with the carefree cheer of someone who has temporarily mislaid all his worries. The beats played on, bold and bright, casting an odd yet cheerful glow over the old stone house.

Later we opened a bottle of vodka with some lemon juice. They made themselves a drink each while I stayed loyal to my lime juice (though I did enjoy a few beer here and there during the lovely time with them). The music wandered into conversations about old films. From there, the topics jumped about in a fashion of their own. Before long we found ourselves deep in an unexpectedly vigorous debate on Mother Teresa. Loud arguments filled with laughter rolled across the room. At one point I remarked that the vodka must be potent stuff. It was only later that I discovered neither of them had even finished a full drink. Perhaps the hills, not the vodka, are what loosen the knots in us.

What mattered most was that all three of us were entirely present in the moment. They are close friends and I am the late entry in their well-seasoned camaraderie. Yet I felt as though I belonged in their circle. That is the peculiar magic of good friendships. Stress and negativity dissolve like mist. What remains is warmth and the kind of laughter that lingers long after it has faded from the air.

The next day we visited an old temple hidden in a nearby village. To reach it one must walk through a pathway flanked by stinging nettles, as if the temple insists on a small toll before granting entry. We were lucky to walk past without touching them. The temple was serene and quiet. Though it had been renovated from time to time, it still carried its own gentle charm. The fresh paint and ceramic tiles had not entirely robbed it of its soul. It stood there with the calm dignity of a place that has seen generations pass, accepting each change without losing its essence. I wished I had packed a picnic basket. It was the kind of spot where one could spend a long afternoon doing nothing more than listening to the wind. Perhaps next time, with another friend or two who appreciate such secret corners of the world.

One of the days we took ourselves to a mountain stream for a small picnic. The sun was kinder there and the water sang its own leisurely tune. It was peaceful to sit on the bank, warming our backs in the sunshine and listening to the steady flow of the stream. The water was too cold for a dip. A couple of birds swept past us and disappeared into the pines. The only blemish was the litter left behind by careless visitors. It reminded me to carry a garbage bag next time and clean up the trail. One must, after all, protect the beauty that one enjoys.

On the way back we found ourselves discussing music again. Something about the sunlight on the road brought to mind “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” by The Beatles. This in turn led to a lively comparison with a line from “Meri Mehbooba” from the Hindi film ‘Pardes’. It is curious how songs drift through the mind like wandering birds, each perched on a memory.

Those days passed too quickly. They left behind echoes of laughter in the rooms and a pleasant lightness in the orchard air. Friendships have a way of doing that. They make a place feel richer for a while. And when my friends finally left, walking down the familiar path, I knew the sunshine would eagerly await their return. It is the company of good people that lends richness to the slow, quiet life I cherish here.

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