I met an old friend today, one of the nicest person I know, with whom I had numerous innocent child ridden fallacies. We chatted for a couple of hours, basically the whereabouts of each other. And then when he left with a promise to meet me soon again. I was jibed by a question, why do good guys get nothing, neither the fame nor the love? Are they meant to deal with atrocious life, because they are good and can make way along?
Our friendship started when I was 5, on mutual pence of cricket. Our amity grew over time and over batting partnerships on the cricket field. Our camaraderie wasn’t appreciated by my father, and he was very reluctant to it. Why? Perhaps he was the son of a household maid, a single mother, who used to work in our society to earn their living. I wasn’t old enough to fathom this reason, and even now I dearth that age.
His father left them stranded when he was very young, and he grew up with this pungent feeling.
I recalled he had only two dreams since young, one being to make her mother happy and gave her a lavish life, and other was to marry his love, a girl I didn’t knew much about.
As time folded my way to college, with a different life and different set of friends, I lost him. And today we met after such a long time, only to find about his lost love and a paralytic mother, and his sunken eyes with forgotten dreams. But he didn’t complain either about those desirable dreams or about a lost friend, me. And I was jibed by a question, why do good guys get nothing, neither the fame nor the love?