The Friends Who Carried Me

We were strangers once,

gathered by chance

in the red-brick halls of Madras Christian College,

where boys outnumbered girls

but never outweighed friendship.

They never saw me as less,

only as one of them

a partner in crime,

a challenger on horse rides and bicycles,

a voice to skip classes with,

a soul to guard like their own.

Life scattered us

letters lost, decades passing,

the world reshaping itself

before Facebook and reunion halls.

But memory kept us,

like seeds waiting for rain.

And when twenty-five years circled back,

Montreal opened her arms—

families gathered,

laughter returning like it had never left.

T-shirts marked the years,

but our eyes marked the truth:

we were still the same.

Now, when storms come,

I remember:

there are voices that believe in me,

hands that lift me,

friends who are not just present in word

but present in soul.

Gratitude fills me

for brothers found in youth,

for bonds tested by time,

for the miracle of reunion,

and the promise we keep

to never let each other fall.