da gr8est compliment ive ever received....

The day dawned bright and sunny. Finally! I was 12 years old! I had struggled to stay awake past midnight, and now, as I pulled off my quilt and stood in the warm sunlight streaming in through the windows, I felt an exhilaration coursing through my veins.

Happily, I went to school, distributed sweets to everyone and smiled non-stop. I was as gay and lively as any sixth-grader on her birthday. Once home, I dressed up meticulously and waited, albeit impatiently, for my friends, presents and chocolate cake(yum) to arrive. I could barely sit still, and after the usual formalities, I dove excitedly on the promising heap of brightly wrapped presents. After all, I'd been waiting a year for this! Novels, clothes, accessories....I mumbled the appropriate thanks to my beaming relatives and sat there, in the mdst of a mess of gaudy paper and squealing girlfriends when I first spotted it-a green-yellow, thin book with 'Slam Book' emblazoned upon it. "Who gave me this?" I yelled over the general commotion. "I did."

I turned to smile at Shriram, my dear family friend...nay, the brother god forgot to give me.... My anchor of support and gossip, with the dreamy green eyes and bright smile. With my characteristic shyness, I'd always kept a bit of a distance from him, but I knew if I needed help, guidance, or just someone who'd listen to me, he'd be there. We'd shared many lazy Sunday afternoons together, munching through my mum's excellent biryani, discussing dog breeds and other inconsequential things..... Never about the scars on the back of his palm(thanks to innumerable blood transfusions) or his frequent absences at school due to his hospital visits.


However, I digress. As I gazed blankly at the umimpressive Slam Book, Shriram quickly said, "I'll fill it", and he picked it up. Looking back, I remember how little I cared; I was chock-full of cake and euphoria, and had little thought to spare for Shriram.

Later, surrounded by a tottering pile of satisfactory gifts, I saw him walking towards me. Silently, he handed me the book and left with a simple, "I'll call you." My friends and I put our heads together to read what he had written.

The last line was one I'll never forget.

It went,"About you, I'd say..."

And he had written, "you're cute. Be careful guys will come after you!"

My heart soared as my friends tittered. Iwas incredibly flattered but disbelieving....

Now, many years later, I'm pretty much a confident adoloscent; so much so that I'm accused of having an 'attitude' problem. I get complimented and brush them off without really caring. I wear a nose stud, fuss about my hair and live for glitter lipgloss.

But sometimes, when I least expect it, I recall Shriram's ever-so-cute compliment, and my spirits soar. His words warm me because I know he meant them. He saw past the fat, awkward, bespectacled girl with dorky braces and cropped hair. He cautioned me against the vagaries of hormones and made my world(at that time, I was picked on and bullied) a little brighter.

All in those 2 simple sentences.

As I watched his terrible congenital illness consume him, I never once told him how much I loved him, how much he meant to me. Why? Perhaps I hoped that he already knew...And my non existene self esteem would never allow me to say those few little words. Maybe I thought he would live a lot longer.....that we would grow old together, discussing our colleges, later spouses.....children....and of course, our dogs.

In life, as in death, Shriram taught me a lot. I've learnt that love never dies, and that a person can live a lifetime off a single compliment. It's true. I've done it.

I love you, Shri.

Megs