The Hyderabad trip held more surprises than I could have imagined, and the biggest one was meeting Akhi. Our catch-up naturally turned into a trip down memory lane. Her parents too had moved out of Kerala, so for all of them, anything connected to Thrissur carried a sense of nostalgia. They had asked me to take some videos of the surroundings and send to them when I go to Thrissur next, and I managed to do that during my last visit.
As I walked through those familiar lanes, memories came rushing back - the Kattachira thoodu, a crude water canal where people brought their cows and buffaloes for a wash, and sometimes even came to do their laundry. The huge locked NRI house in front of which we would pose for photos as if it were our own. The old-age home that was still under construction back then, but already had two residents—one, a lady who had lived life entirely on her own terms, married the love of her life outside her religion, travelled far and wide, and later started this project after her husband’s passing. The other was a teacher, a gentle, selfless spinster who had spent her whole life caring for her siblings, and after a hip fracture, found herself there . Both of them would wait for our visits, and spending time with them after classes slowly became our little ritual. The first aunty even kept rabbits that reproduced endlessly and we used to play with them. She would get a tad jealous if we spent more of our time with the teacher instead of her. Sometimes, we even found ourselves playing mediators in their small clashes—those moments taught me a lot about human nature, patience, and the little joys of companionship, and they remain etched in my memory as some of the quirkiest and warmest experiences of our teens.
Behind this building was vast paddy fields, unused but breathtaking at sunset, sometimes with a friendly snake or two crossing our path. Then there were the neighbors - the Punjabi aunty who in her own way, became our boldness coach;, her two little kids who adored us and followed us everywhere, the jewellery chettan whose home introduced us to homemade wine for the first time during one Christmas, and the ummachi who made the most delicious snacks. All those places and faces came alive again, as if no time had passed. And I guess that’s why I wanted to write it all down—to hold on to this feeling just a little longer.
School friends have always been special, as most of us had studied together from LKG onwards. Even our parents knew each other, having seen one another from the time we were very young. But with around 90+ students in our class, there were naturally different closer circles of friends. Still, even if someone wasn’t part of our immediate circle, we shared a bond—we knew their homes, their parents, their siblings, and so much about each other.
It was very rare for new students to join in between, and Akhila was one of those few—she became part of our class only in 4th standard. She was the smallest, sweetest, most studious girl in class, and soon became a favorite among teachers and students alike. But our close association didn't start then.
Akhi and I grew especially close when she moved into our neighborhood. In those days, there were very few houses in our neighborhood, and I hardly had any friends nearby. We would wander around the neighborhood together, discovering little nooks and corners as if they were our own secret world. There were endless giggly conversations that only we understood, silly inside jokes that could send us into fits of laughter, and shared some of our deepest secrets .Suddenly, school was no longer the only place we shared—our days spilled into evenings, weekends, and holidays. From then on, we were inseparable and she soon became an integral part of our group as well.
We loved exploring the city: visiting exhibitions, browsing through bookshops, or even sneaking in a lunch outing or an ice-cream treat. We shared almost every spare moment together. We’d take out our cycles—which wasn’t very common for girls in a small town back then—and roam around. There were the teasing and taunts of roadside Romeos to deal with, and sometimes even the questioning at home over the anonymous letters or cards we received—the little dramas of growing up in a small town. We tried to act bold even when our knees shook, and found comfort in knowing we always had each other’s back. But even those moments somehow turned into stories we laughed about later.
During our PUC days, even though we weren’t in the same class at college, we practically lived with each other every waking moment. Our days would start at 6:30 in the morning, when she would come over and we’d head to tuition together. Physics days were especially tough—we’d start five minutes early and pedal with all our strength, hearts pounding, adrenaline rushing, wondering if Sir would be in a good mood or not...Other days were more relaxed and slow ๐ The early morning chill, a challenging stretch of the road at ayinath irakkam, the creak of our cycles, and the quiet streets—all of it made those rides unforgettable. Sometimes, we’d even be balancing an umbrella while trying to keep our flying shawls from tangling in the wheels, adding its own little thrill to the journey..
Our weekends were equally hectic, with tuitions in the morning, entrance coaching in the afternoon, and endless assignments in between. Many of our friends would also come over to do the assignments together, and Amma had a hectic time feeding all of us! ๐ We both loved chocolates, and often that became the perfect bait for our friends to bribe us into helping them with their assignments. And of course, we made sure every bit of chocolate was cleaned from the wrapper—our motto: wasting chocolate was a crime!
We had a strict curfew at 6 PM, and if there was ever a time we couldn’t meet, our moms would call each other immediately—because there was nowhere else we would be except one of our houses! She celebrated Onam at my house, and I celebrated Diwali at hers.
Sometimes we went shopping together or shared our wardrobes, just like sisters would. We debated endlessly over whether Sushmita Sen or Aishwarya Rai was prettier when they won the pageants. Whenever we encountered any injustice, we felt compelled to tackle it—even if it meant writing long, detailed letters to the authorities. Oh my…
We also took countless pictures of our everyday lives, filling multiple albums—albums that I now truly cherish whenever I look back. Life was hectic with entrance coaching, assignments, tuitions, and labs, but looking back, I think those were the years we treasured the most.
Probably, Akhi joining JIPMER shaped my career as well. Until then, I had planned to take pure science, pursue research, and had even joined for BSc. But when Akhi left, the days suddenly felt dull and empty. That’s when Amma stepped in and persuaded me to take up Architecture at REC Calicut. The idea of moving to another city appealed to me and Architecture was something I loved, so I agreed—took a TC from Vimala and joined Calicut (unfortunately for Engineering and not for Architecture) Later, I had to shift again, take another TC from REC, and finally continue engineering in Thrissur itself which in a way helped us to meet during vacations. Every vacation was filled with stories—mostly about their college fests, interzones, and sometimes not so pleasent ones - a mishap during a class tour, and another time, a bomb blast in Thrissur.
Every time the four of us reunited, we made our mandatory Guruvayoor trip—donned in sarees, as was customary then—riding a public bus, talking nonstop all the way there and back. Our stories seemed endless, ranging from silly jokes to serious confessions, and the journey itself felt like an adventure. Sometimes, we even managed sleepovers at my home, staying up late into the night, sharing laughter and secrets, creating memories that linger even today.
Later, when I moved to Bangalore for work, I often visited her at JIPMER. My bus would reach early in the morning, around 3 a.m., and I would sneak into her hostel room and catch a few hours of sleep. By morning, we’d set out to explore—strolling along the beach catching sunrise, wandering through gardens, or checking out some of the new eateries she had discovered. Her marriage was settled while she was still doing her MD. One of those days, she visited Bangalore, and we both went “wedding shopping” together. She was the first in our circle to get married, so it all felt completely new and exciting for me at the time.
By then, her parents had moved out of Kerala after a burglary incident involving their live-in maid, which left her mother and grandmother in a near-death situation and brought with it a lasting trauma. So, the wedding took place in Mangalore, and soon after, she moved to the UK. I visited her once in Bristol in 2004, where she was slowly settling into her new role—learning to cook, managing a home, and finding her rhythm in a new country. I guess two or three years later, we managed a fleeting catch-up at the Bangalore airport while she was on her way to Mangalore.
But soon after, her parents moved from Mangalore to Nellore, and later to Hyderabad, which made meeting her even rarer. I too had cut down on my frequent travels after my parents’ passing. Though I had been planning for years to visit her parents in Hyderabad, it finally happened only now. And what are the odds—that the very same weekend I traveled, Akhi was also there, visiting just for a week after a long time, completely unplanned.
Life has a way of scattering us in different directions—new cities, new responsibilities, new chapters. Yet moments like these remind me that friendships like ours never really fade with time or distance. They wait quietly, ready to pick up right where we left off—like a home we can always return to.
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