Walking into a sunset

Who are the friends you actually want to grow old with ?

The ones who spend every meeting lamenting the collapse of civilisation and humanity?

Or the ones who have a new “well being” obsession
Or the ones who still remain interested in living?

Because there is a category of friendship that slowly becomes an endless complaint department. You meet for what is supposed to be dinner and within minutes the autopsy begins.

The country is doomed. Younger people are useless. Nobody has values anymore. Work is terrible. Marriages are clinging by a thin thread. Politics, the lesser said the better .

The cities weather is getting worse by the year and infrastructure is crumbling.

Everyone speaks as if they alone were appointed guardians of a glorious past .

By the end of the evening, the food plates are swiped clean, the glasses are empty. But someone cribs, the food and taste is not like the olden times anymore.

Then there are the wellness warriors.

At these meetings, every second person suddenly becomes less human, more diagnostic report. A casual drink now sounds like a medical conference.

“My Vitamin D3 crashed.”
“Check your triglycerides, very very important .”
“I’ve cut gluten, dairy, seed oils and all the joy.” “ I have started eating eggs , you know for protein ..its mandatory for everyone , my daughter tell me”

“ Dal is carbs da.. “
“This one supplement changed my life.”

“ My blood sugar is more than my class X marks”

“ My smart watch is the best “

“Both my niece and my knees hurt me in equal measure ”

Somewhere around the second beer and Masala peanuts, someone inevitably starts discussing gut health with the passion that earlier was reserved for cricket.

You realise adulthood for these folks is essentially people gathering socially to discuss inflammation.

They are trying to feel better. Trying to negotiate with time.

But then there are the those friends.

The ones you truly want beside you when your hair greys and your walking speed reduces by half

The ones who still carry curiosity into a room.

Friends who can spend twenty minutes passionately debating whether the old Jagjit Singh recordings sounded warmer on cassette. Friends who recommend books knowing fully well you may never read them, but recommend them anyway because sharing enthusiasm is itself an act of affection.

The ones who still have favourite restaurants in cities nobody talks about.

Who know where to find proper filter coffee, the kind served hot in stainless steel tumblers that u calm down by blowing them some flying kisses. The kind where conversation slows down naturally. Where nobody is taking photos of the coffee.

The friends who can sit through an entire ghazal, a thumri or a kirtana without touching their phone.

Who can still get excited about discovering a tiny bar in Lisbon, a new bookstore in Bengaluru, a jazz club in Paris, or fluffy idlis in a nameless place on the highway to Mysore.

The ones who still notice things.
A line in a poem, or The smell of old books.
A well-designed chair which helps relax . The first sip of beer after a long drive.
The way an old Manna day song can suddenly transport you to an era you thought you had forgotten.

They discuss the new drink they tried and how it is a refreshing change.

They still are curious and want to learn new skills. They look forward to interact with many age groups to get a world view

These friends matter because they resist the greatest danger of ageing.

Some people age into wisdom while some others age into repetition. They become loops of the same complaints, same fears, same cynicism replayed endlessly.

The best people somehow continue evolving.

They still travel not to post photos, but to feel surprise and joy.
They still laugh loudly in public.
They still pull each other legs like they did a few decades ago.

They still plan that Goa monsoon trip and surprise folks by going..

Because life gives everyone enough material to become bitter.

Careers may disappoint. Bodies surely slow down. Children grow distant quickly . Dreams downsize themselves without even trying too hard. Even mirrors become less cooperative.

But some people still manage to arrive at a table carrying warmth instead of weight.

Those are the people I want to grow old with.

Not the richest or the most successful. Maybe not even the healthiest.
Just the ones who leave you lighter after spending time with them even without us having a beer .

The ones after whom the world still feels interesting.

Because eventually friendship is not about who knew you longest.

It is about who helps you remain alive inside.

Ageing is inevitable. Becoming boring should remain optional.

I want to grow old with people who bring stories to the table instead of their blood markers ..