It's Shantam's birthday today.
He committed suicide a couple of years back.
I don't know why.
His mother was my housemistress back in school. One of my favorite teachers. He left for Goa to study architecture. I spoke to him on the phone a couple of times, met him thrice and then he was gone.
Today is his birthday.
I don't remember it. But he's still on my Facebook and Facebook reminds me on the left side of my home screen. I struggle with whether I should wish him or not. I click on his profile page. See a couple of people have wished him. Some names I recognize, some I don't. I click on 'photos' and scroll down. Red shirt, almost skinned head, skinny as hell, happy. Just as I remember. Always a joke to share, a leg to pull. We weren't even good friends. Just friends. The kind you say hi to when you cross on the corridor, share a joke, text once in 6 months, probably talk that often too, call when in town. That sort of friend.
I see the pictures. By the beach, with new friends, beer in hand and then I see the old pictures. The ones taken at graduation or on the tennis courts while we were all still at school. Still young, innocent, laughter in our eyes, unaware of all that was about to change. The Shantam I knew. I struggle with the nostalgia and then I click on 'write something' and say what I would've if he was actually still checking his Facebook.
Happy Birthday. By the way, They're singing your song at assembly every morning. Awesome na!
I hope he's checking his Facebook. I know he'll be happy to know that they're singing his song. And like that day I stood at assembly after 7 years and heard them sing that song, I know he will feel connected, because I still do.
Shantam was a talented musician. The Assam Valley School, our school, sings the song he composed (lyrics and music) at assembly everyday. Unofficially, I believe it is our 'school song'.
In remembrance:
"I can see confusion is the sign of the times.
Everywhere compassion's getting harder to find.
Someday when we learn that no ones strong enough to make it on their own.
I just hope that someone there would take the time to care and pass it on.
Pass it on, Pass it on, to a brother who might need a helping hand.
Pass it on, to a sister it may give her strength to stand.
Love and kindness make a flame known by many different names.
Pass it on, pass it on, pass it on.
People say id like to get involved but i cant.
Anyway Ive got problems of my own i haven't solved.
Each one help another and that one help another one along.
Like a fire burning low every log will make it glow and Pass it on"
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