Pungidasa's Blog, page 5

Being the change — with “ Lets be the Change”

“Through this article, I want to tell people that making change is possible. Especially to youngsters who want to be the change to the country. “ — Anirudh Dutt

I am proud of the things that these guys have done over the years. A student driven organisation doing things that would take years of planning for corporates to come up with.

I had the pleasure of meeting Anirudh Dutt, a personal friend of mine who is an inspiration to many, including myself.

He told me over a small discussion that, a bunch of students decided to do something for the city, “ we asked around — most of the people told us that waste management was a bane, so we decided to something about it and That was how LBTC began.” LBTC stands for “ Let’s Be the Change”; yes, an apt name.

In a time when most organisations fail and crumble, LBTC has grown from strength to strength, with as many as ten to twelve volunteers in the beginning, to cleaning and beautifying the walls of the entire bus station of Majestic/ Kempegowda Bus terminus, organising a cleaning drive at more than 160 wards in the city and recently the Plog run that involved more people in the quest to make Bengaluru plastic free.

The biggest aid to LBTC is that they represent a strong “WHY”, their cause for a clean and neat Bengaluru resonates with every Bangalorean here. And LBTC is one of the few organisations that I have personally known to have perfectly tapped into the huge population of the students of the city. For a student led, student driven organisation to take on a huge problem is a huge bunch of feathers to the core team of LBTC.

LBTC at its core is backed by a strong interface with the local wards, health officers, Pourakarmikas and the corporators at the helm. Anirudh informed me over the course of the conversation, that there are a paltry 50- 60 personnel per ward to manage the waste that is contributed over by over 60,000 residents. Just imagine for once the gravity of the situation.

While LBTC’s bread and butter work has been cleaning black spots in the city that are hot spots for garbage dumps by beautifying the place, they also have taken to raising the voice and informing people of the need for segregation of waste and recycling of materials. They firmly believe in the philosophy of sharing their knowledge and are constantly on the quest to enable youth leaders in every ward, by helping them connect with the ward leaders. This decentralisation of responsibility has always long term sustainable benefits too…

LBTC’s progress has sent them to other parts of the country as well, with their working model being adopted in Tamil Nadu and Kerala.

Overall, if you are reading this and thinking of that one idea that you think can make the world a better place, “ Go ahead and give it your time and effort and the changes shall follow”.

To join the bandwagon of change makers at LBTC, contact them and register as a volunteer through these social media links below…

https://instagram.com/team_lbtc

A walking talking inspiration — Mr. Rama Murthy

Today I am going to talk about one of my closest friends and a lifelong inspiration Mr. Rama Murthy.

Why is he such an influence ?
I am yet to meet somebody like him. A man with the simplest of attires but with an extraordinary spirit hobbling about with a passion for making some impact in the lives of kids in Rural Karnataka.

Taking voluntary retirement from his post as a deputy director of NAL ( National Aeronautics Limited ) and coming back to his hometown Magadi. Starting a charitable trust and setting Paranga Vidya Kendra in his own ancestral land that he donated to the trust. Paranga Vidya Kendra, his brain child, started off as an high school, since there was no high school for around 12 km around Thorepalya, Magadi; now has grown to be a full fledged school right from kindergarten till matriculation.

If not for this school, nestled in the lap of nature, a small stream flowing past it, pyramid shaped classrooms, free education , free food, free uniforms and quality education would be missing for almost 600 students.

It is very easy to dream, but an interesting journey filled with challenges to bring it to reality. Mr. Rama Murthy toiled for over 18 years to build a school that stands tall today as a beacon of knowledge with students achieving 100 percent pass results for over 5 years successively.

Imagine a leading scientist from India’s elite, a man who has worked on GSLV, PSLV and Tejas; teach students in a small village in rural Karnataka.
The sheer thought of it gives me goosebumps and makes me emotional.

How many of us can think of doing that, putting some one else first, not for one day, one week, one year but for eighteen long years straight. Daily with one thought in mind, as to make a difference in the lives of the underprivileged.

There is an anecdote that runs that just like the popular saying, the three things important in business is "location, location and location", the only thought in Murthy's head was "Improve Paranga, Improve Paranga, Improve Paranga"...

I write this article with dual emotions, sad that this walking talking inspiration that is no longer present with us. But also in celebration of his life, work ethics and personality.

I met him and interacted with him only for about 10 months, but then in those times, he had become a friend and a mentor to me in so many ways.

https://medium.com/media/cf5432e344885ae40bd7374d13597b3f/href

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=JgWR4FBGXPo

His life is a testament, to unwavering faith in an idea, dedication to a cause of making an impact, an example to people that such things are possible with relentless effort.

In tough times, I remember his story and I tell myself,
One man's dream can actually change the world.
This man, a celebrated scientist could have called it a day, bought a nice house in Bangalore, lived a lavish lifestyle for years yet he chose to do something very few of his stature ever dream of.

Giving up on his dream was just too easy but then he always chose to stay and make this a reality. For this very thought and action alone, he deserves to be celebrated...

Paranga Vidya Kendra runs almost completely from donations from Philanthropists and has been doing so from the last eighteen years.
If you are inspired and interested to do your bit to this organization and make a change to many lives, you can always donate to the trust here.
http://parangatrust.com/contribute/donate.html

Bank Transfer

Bank : State Bank Of India
Account Holder : Paranga Charitable Trust
Account Type : Savings
Account No : 31451189264
Branch : Magadi
IFSC Code: SBIN0013396

The Life of a TV Remote

The Life of a TV Remote

I think it may be something that happens in every house. It is a story of love, hope, jealousy and strife.

We had always known one thing in our lives until this arrived. Everything had to be done the analog way until then, right from switching on the television to changing the channel that was needed to be viewed. The channel selection was limited to around five channels at home. The best part was that we had to hit the television once or twice on its head at times. If that did not work then run all the way to the terrace and turn the antenna in different directions to get better image quality. We had to use our voice, it had to come down three flights of steps and convey the message - “ Is the television working? , is the television working ? and so it would echo. Everyone in the locality knew of our failing television then.

But this changed everything. The Television was bigger and it came married with something called as the remote control. The remote was small but powerful. It could be handheld and could change the channels in an instant. The best part was that now, we could watch umpteen number of channels. The evening news at seven was the only thing the television was used for until then but now right from morning till the evening it would blare on.

The first thing we learnt to understand was that remote control was the real place of control in the house. It could be operated from a long distance. I learnt it the hard way, when my cartoon time was cut off with just a touch of a button from the kitchen. The channel could be changed from news to cricket at the touch of a few buttons. The television was something that brought in a variety of innovative thinking in all of us.

The remote control brought out the inherent power struggles in the houses. Who ever held the remote held the super power. The remote was the most prized possession. It got its importance at the beginning of the day, from the suprabatham and other devotional songs at dawn. It continued with a movie in the afternoon until my granny went to sleep but then came back into glory as soon as I returned from school. In the evening, it was back in the hands of my grandmother. In between I got exclusive rights for it but then after dinner it was back in the hands of my granny. The evening and holidays at home brought out some additional friction in the house, me and my grandmother constantly fought to control the possession of the remote control. Caught in the crossfire of this was my grandfather and my mother. “I have paid for the television” my grandmother would fire away. My mother would call from the room or the kitchen. “ Give her the remote”. “ I would sound my own war song, “ Thatha, can you please get the remote for me”. The control would come back to me.

The war between home work and boredom, the battle between armed foes fighting between a cricket match and a never ending television soap. "The match shall go nowhere, they shall play 24/7 and 365 days a year. Go and study. ",

" The serial shall stay the same. 21 minutes shall go in the same dialogue from 30 different angles and 9 minutes of meaningless ads. Cant I get the remote for that 9 minutes at least",

" You will fail in the exam, Tv is an idiot box ”

" Your General Knowledge will never improve by account of a serial. You also watch Television, so you are also an idiot. "

" Look at your audacity. This is my Television. You are in my house. ….."

The remote control was like a nuclear bomb at times with neither side backing down. I, an entitled grandson, she the righteous owner of the television.

The fight was initially between my grand mother and me. It got a third dimension when my sister entered the scene. Now it was divided among three adversaries. It was war alright.

The remote would disappear like some magic trick and appear only at the beck and command on the magician. The magic was done by none other than me. When the remote was there, the channel would switch to the channel that I wanted. Then the cell would come off. The remote would be hid under the sofa, under the bed, in the attic. I doubt no one would have looked at the kitchen itself, it went into the rice vessel, sadly not into the oil pan.

At times, when the contention for the remote was too much. The remote was safe in my pant or shorts. It would be taken to the bathroom. Once the remote was off my hands, the game was over. It would come with me for the loo breaks.

Once I remember that my sister and I fought over the remote. She had a compass in hand and was threatening to pinch me with it. Another time it was my physics record and an ink pen in her hand. If you dont give me the remote, I will scratch the record away. We used to fight, pinch, tease,tickle and what not. Once the topic got a little out of hand and we ended up running the entire length of road like Tom and Jerry, fighting over who got the remote control or the control over the remote. For fifteen minutes, I got scolded the name of every animal in the textbook, then my mom shouted from the house. The television was switched off. The remote was no longer in action. We both looked at each other with anger.

The remote was one way we fought but that also got us together at times. We sat together to watch certain things. The 8.30 news was something no one missed. The television series from 9.00 to 9.30 had no quarrels. The Republic Day parade was a family event.

Now the remote sits, catching dust. No one fights for the remote. No one watches television. The Television in our house is a dinosaur of a bygone era. I sit and watch everything on my phone, so does my sister. So does my mother. My grandmother has a separate television of her own that blares non stop 24/7. We have no fights and no body cares about the remote control. The nuclear bomb of having the remote blow everybody into raging tempers is gone. It sits sedentary. At times while cleaning the house we look at it and go by memory lane and tease each other as how we fought for a remote. A remote that we no longer fight over.

Pune Ploggers : Plogging towards a better future

What does it take to feel inspired? What does it take to think of making a change?

Here is a story of a campaign that is taking the streets of Pune by storm.

“Plogging is not about picking trash” says Vivek Gurav — the founder of Pune Ploggers. They are a group of responsible citizens turning their weekends into something healthy; healthy for the environment and healthy for themselves as well.

If you are wondering as to what is this new term called “Plogging” -> it is a wonderful combination of picking up plastic waste spewn on the road while jogging or walking.

Vivek who also is a Global Youth Ambassador (also a software engineer by profession ) began this initiative very recently; he previously had worked in the domain of cleaning rivers in his college days. Cleaning the Indrayani river near his college was an activity that gave him a lot of happiness and eventually pushed him to start this venture of plogging.

Inspired by the same initiative in Sweden, he started collecting plastic material mercilessly spewn on the road when he went on his daily jog. The fact that the recent floods in Pune was caused partly by drains being blocked by plastic bottles and other run off — added fire to the idea burning in his head. This activity of his grew in popularity as many of his friends and colleagues at office started to follow suit.

What does he aim to do with plogging?

Over a very long telephone call, we chatted on the various facets of how plogging can help.

Plogging is an outdoor activity — both healthy for the mind and body as well as the environment.Plogging increases awareness — As and when you pick up the trash that is lying on the streets, you tend to realise your own shortcomings of how you are also responsible towards creating that waste in the first place.Plogging also helps creating awareness on waste segregation, single use plastics. Interestingly we all hear the word single use plastic is banned — single use plastic is dangerous for the environment… But very few actually know what all items fall under the category of single use plastic.

The story of Pune Ploggers is a heartwarming story, of inspired action in times of need, an innovative way to tackle multiple problems at once. Vivek also muses that people contact him over the weekend enquiring as which black spot they shall cover next. The activity has found great momentum in both the youth as well as the young corporate crowd — both of whom want some action away from the sedentary lifestyle. They connect over applications such as Whatsapp and Instagram — getting more and more power into the vision of making their city plastic/ litter free.

These changemakers are ably helped by many corporates that fund the need for masks, gloves and other equipments. The PMC or the Pune Municipal Corporation takes in the waste that gets picked up by the ploggers and then recycles the material via another NGO called as SWACCH. SWACCH is run by rural women who salvage through the trash and help make the process of recycling smooth.

During the course of their plogging, over 11 weekend they have amassed more than 4000 kilograms of trash with over 1200 kilograms plastic for recycling. That is over a ton of plastic that has been thrown to the road — the same plastic that could have clogged more drains, entered the rivers and oceans and caused much more havoc.

This idea that efforts however small, can bring about a change in the way we see the world. The shift in mindset that shouts at the top of all the din — that my city is a clean city, because I keep it so. The techies and the various college going kids that join the plogging cause are driven to bring this change.

Additionally PP(Pune Ploggers) also have found another creative way around a interesting problem. According to Vivek — approximately 2000 Beer bottles end up on the road each day. And the beer bottles cannot be recycled since there is no plant in Pune that is able to do the recycling. The volunteers at PP came up with this interesting idea of collecting them and turning them into works of art; painting them with Warli art after cleaning them. The art works get sold for more than 300 per piece and are pretty and popular too.

So if you are ever in Pune/are a resident of Pune and are looking at possible ways to start off a cleaning revolution, then you can get in touch with Vivek and his group of changemakers here — https://www.instagram.com/puneploggers/

PS: Receiving a call from Vivek— this young changemaker, who passionately explained his venture into making Pune plastic free was a reminder of my responsibility as writer to share stories that can cause you to look back and ponder at the possibilities that you as individual can make with a simple formula of taking action.

If you have an interesting story to tell, a story that the world deserves to know. kindly get in touch with me via email : pungidasa@gmail.com

Raghavendra and his tradition

Raghavendra and his tradition

His name was Raghavendra, he was a man of small stature with bright and warm features. He was a person whom you came to like instantly, always wearing a smile on his round face. His face was almost always decorated with a moustache, that completed his frame. Complementing his moustache were affable eyes that swam with a sense of kindness. His business was flourishing. He owned a shop on the busiest roads of the locality. Everyone passing by had to get a glimpse of the shop and its dazzling array of biscuits. If it was just termed as a normal biscuit then one would not be doing it any honour at all. The quiet fragrance of the biscuits being baked hit your nose with such a pleasant caress, that it basically pulled you like gravity. Biscuits of all sizes and shapes were birthed here, with the greatest care to taken to make them soft and tasty. Once near the shop, the horizon of your gaze caught a dazzling display of these divine creations arranged in neat structures. If the fragrance did not get you to hunt for funds to buy them, then the display got to you. If the display did not, then Raghavendra would call the potential customer and offer them a free sample of one of his delicacies. Then and there, you just melted away hook, line and sinker.

Raghavendra had a keen eye for spotting the potential buyer against the one who was waiting in hope. But he was a kind man, the business was booming, his shop was famous across the land and people came to buy them in large quantities. It brought Raghavendra great joy to see his humble shop bring joy to all who came by. Raghavendra was very grateful to God for having kept him better than a lot of people.

The roads of the market place was always abound with tons of street kids. They happened to play all day and engage themselves in various activities. They had a special reason to love the shop too.

On random days,when the business was low or at it's slowest, Raghavendra would observe these kids playing on the street, observing that many days they would pass by his shop with a look of deep hunger and desire, then turn the other way hanging their head in something mixed with shame that soon turned to guilt. How could they dream of that biscuit? Could they dare ask their parents to buy them something so exotic?

He could read their eyes and some days he would call all of those kids playing to his humble shop. They could choose any biscuit of their choice, eat them to their heart's content and go away contented and beaming with both happiness and gratitude. Their smiles were priceless. None of the other shopkeepers in the lane or the locality were happy with this excessive gestures.They were afraid that this might be bad for business since it may become a trend with many of them making it unprofitable.

Some told him, "There are not of your caste, why do you give them a chance to come to your shop, giving Daan should be done within your own castes, else it shall add to your sin "

Others said, " I don't think they even take a bath , its so hygienic to have them with you. "

"Next, their parents will expect us to give freebies to them as well. You should really stop this."

Raghavendra had one reply, "Kindness is the traditional practice that my family has followed for centuries. It is in my culture and upbringing. I shall continue to do this until I can."

Raghavendra never stopped giving away sweets to the street kids. He always would look at their smiles, they gushing with unbound joy when the biscuits came to them, their black eyes, sharp and intense; blazing with gratitude. It was something priceless, something more delicious than his shop of biscuits…

Story by Sunil Sathyendra

More from Sunil Sathyendra :

Colourful Stories In Black and White https://www.amazon.in/dp/B07KVL77K7/

Gowri and Chintu

Gowri, the cow was in great pain. It could not move its legs, it hardly could breathe right. Tears ran down from its eyes in a steady flow. It refused to drink, it refused to eat, even its most favorite of green leaves.

Gowri was a beautiful cow, that minded its own business for most of the time, scouting for good grass, eating them, chewing them with great relish. It would come home, get milked, giving away its milk to its owners. They would sell the milk each day. The house relied on Gowri for milk and many more things.

Her urine was collected and given to a local doctor,It had medicinal properties. The cow dung was used to make dung cakes that could be burnt as fuel. Also her dung was used as manure in the fields.

The house was worried, Chintu the young kid was the most worried of all. She loved the cow very much. Her favorite pastime was to sit with the cow and sing songs to it. The cow would listen to her with the greatest of patience. The doctor came to see both Gowri and Chintu in tears. The doctor examined Gowri and said, we need to take her to the hospital now. She needs an operation. The family lived with meagre means, they had little money for the operation

Chintu broke her piggy bank and ran behind the doctor. "Here, take the money and save my Gowri".

During the operation, the made a small cut near the stomach of Gowri, Gowri howled in pain as layers and layers of plastic had been accumulated in her stomach for years.

They found small bags, straws and much more plastic junk, collected in her gut, stopping the flow of food in her digestive tract.

So many bags, one after another like it was some magic trick came out of her stomach. At the end of the operation, twenty kilos of plastic that had been accumulated in her stomach was removed.

The doctor said, "most of us throw away plastic bags after using them once, stuff them with vegetable leftovers, food leftovers. The cows eat the green vegetables along with these covers, they get stored in the stomach blocking the way. Cows like Gowri have no voice to tell us to stop using plastic. They cant tell us their pain. They just suffer in silence."

Chintu, vowed that "From then on, she would never use plastic covers again. She would tell the story of Gowri to every kid in the village, make sure their cows did not suffer in silence"

Gowri, vowed that "From then on, she would never use plastic covers again.

Gowri, vowed that "From then on, she would never use plastic covers again. She would tell the story of Gowri to every kid in the village, make sure their cows did not suffer in silence"

The man who cries at farewells

People are more concerned about me during farewells.

There is always a joke running around a week in advance, “so all ready to cry at xyz’s farewell” . Then there is nervous laughter after that sentence. People just can’t understand how a grown up man can actually cry.

Yes. I am a man that cries.

All men do it. Its never about men, its about people.

I have often heard of terms called a cry baby, why are you crying like a woman.
Men don't cry.

But when it comes to office farewells, when people close to me leave, I have always cried my heart out.

I have heard men and women come up to me and tell me these things.

1. Its okay don't cry.
2. Send them off with a smile.
3. I thought you will cry really hard, you did really good by not crying.
4. Dont be a cry baby.
5. Don't be a like a girl.
6. Be strong.
7. Oh its a farewell, I thought you will cry.

I cry because a farewell and a goodbye is an intense emotional experience and for a man who wears his emotions on his collar, its very difficult to restrain oneself.

I have always told myself,
Its okay to cry.
Its an Expression of emotion, Of love and affection.

It has nothing to do with strength or weakness.
Nothing to do with men and women.
Its a natural outlet for a myriad of emotions.

Its a beautiful cleansing experience. It helps you reset your life at times. It helps you unburden stress and relaxes you.

For a very long time, being a stoic has been romanticized, crying associated only with grief and weakness. But its just Swayambhu, it just exists.

I get trolled,
Give him tissue papers,
Its gonna flood tonight,
Give him a kerchief.

I don't blame you for it. You have been programmed that way.

At times, its a social pressure thing too. Being afraid of crying, expressing with tears is looked down upon. You are bullied into stoics.

Its a dangerous sign to hold your tears. Depression, breakdown and suicide can happen since you are unable to be who you are in true spirit.
There is no harm in saying it out loud.

No one is a cry baby.
Crying is not a sign of weakness.
Crying is just a form of expressing feelings like love, happiness, sadness, grief and many offshoots of the same.

I will continue to shed tears in farewells, at times its for people who will never be the same, a future that you could have had, a friendship and kinship that you will miss in the future. It may a thousand other emotions.

I am a man who cries at farewells.
It does not make me any less or more than any of you.

Remember to express yourself

When life comes a full circle !!

Let me tell you a story...

Two young freshers walked into a corporate office in 2014. One volunteered at a govt school once and another at a fundraiser event.

Then began a journey for them and many others in the process.

Two became four, with two leaders joining in and telling them, " Go ahead and start CSR activities, we will be there to guide you".

We selected a school, we collected clothes, we packed them and took sweets and went to the school.

The first two in the above, description was me and my best buddy Rahul. By the time we had started the drive, My technical work had started full time and was in a bad shape...

I badly wanted to visit this place, spend time with the kids but the batallion of volunteers went without me. I asked my manager, and he replied - Its a choice between your responsibility as a developer and this visit. Its upto you to choose. I chose the office...

I was gutted and wounded from within. It was an intense feeling of being let down by your own decisions...

The trust had been running for more than 20 years, a safe heaven for kids whose both parents worked as daily wage labourers. An inspiration for us all, then and now too...

We did more events, at different NGO's, spread across Bangalore.

We took to three schools for volunteering and infrastructure upliftment in the next three years.
Built a strong network of volunteers.

Spread smiles to more than 1000 kids in the interim with a growing team of volunteers and empatatic hearts.

I had been a part of 26 volunteering visits, six plantation drives, 10 to 12 in-house CSR initiatives and built a reputation of Pungi implies CSR. CSR means Pungi.

I also met the president of the company of 18k plus employees solely because I was the volunteer with the highest hours volunteering. I repeated the feat for two successive years. ( I say this with the most humblest of thoughts and nothing else).

But my memory had a tiny fragment that always said that, "I have never been to SRGVVK and I have missed out on that visit. The only CSR visit, I have not been a part of since five years."
.........

Now that you know the history,

I finally met the kids from this trust today, after almost 5 years, almost four hours of fun and meaningful memories.

The smiles on their faces was priceless and the deepest satisfaction in mine that life had come a full circle.

Now it had just made my day and will stay in my memory for a very long time.

....
End of story.
Thanks for listening in...

Moving On — A year without your Best Friend of 20 plus years !

Moving On — A year without your Best Friend of 20 plus years !

Over the last year, I have lost many friends. Friends that were so deeply entwined to me as a person. I have seen friends come and go, stay for a while - until my necessity in their life runs out and then make an emergency exit. Never to be seen again.

Three to four hour Marathon calls when they were drunk, too high to care, too depressed to get and too happy to care about me. I have held the line open to talk, to listen without judgement.

Calls before the exam, staying at my home prior to dangerous subjects, when my passing was in doubt too, I have let them in and studied together.

Calls before an entrance exam, they hyperventilating and suffering panic attacks, consoling them to normalcy. Half dead and half asleep myself, I have been their angel in their distress.

Staying together as friends until they sort of found love.

The common factor has been dis-ownment after their work was done. I sort of understood after sometime and they have been ex-communicated from my life.

But this one friend, our friendship was born out of no reason at all. They say a friend for seven years, stays a friend for ever. This man was a friend for almost 24 years and yet as I write this article, I celebrate a year without his friendship. It pained me that a man could drop out of my life as fast as he did.

To this day, I have no clue as to why he left all of a sudden. He stopped picking my calls, stopped responding to my messages. I even called up his landline number, he picked up and pretended to be someone else and hung up saying it was a wrong number. I was perplexed, I had known him for ages. We were so close that he could predict everything I did and may be to an extent vice versa. He came home every weekend, almost every weekend and we played cricket, badminton and we spoke at length. If I wanted a partner for a boring job, his name was the first on my list and vice versa.

In school, we sat next to each other, we walked to school together, we came in the same van before that. I had known him right since I was in Kindergarten. We were Laurel and Hardy, if I was around, he was bound to be near. He was always better than me at practical things, such as playing cricket, badminton and maybe driving the automobiles too. I had an acute shortage in driving skills and we travelled to office together for almost a year and a half. In school we had designed a missed call system to tell each other to start to school. Staying three roads apart, without our own cell phones, we had managed to connect. But today, I have a phone and he has one too. We have drifted apart with such a natural rhythm that it sort of scares me.

I did reach out to him again and again in the last year, curious to find out if he was still in town and the reason why he was suddenly like Houdini. After almost months of calling, I decided to call from another number and prank him. In my mind, I assumed he’ll see through the prank and recognise my voice. After almost fifteen minutes, I did the revelation, happy that I had pranked him fair and square. He then told me that I had told something about him to someone and this had gravely offended him. I had no memory of when he was a topic of conversation. I speak too much and that too with too many people, it came as a shock to me that my words had reached him from someone else and it had hurt him. I wanted to know why, what and how this had transpired.

He did not budge at all. You have spoken, you should know. I asked him to meet and he did not agree to come to our normal place of meeting. I was now angry at him for being an absolute madman. If I was in the wrong, I needed to know why and how. I would gladly apologise and make amends with him. He should know that by now. We had had a normal conversation a month back on my birthday. He had come over and we had spoken at length, just like normal.

I cut the call and ended this conversation in a fit of anger. I would not go back to this friendship.

It may have been ego or anger or hurt feelings or just plain rejection from a friend who did not even want to speak as to why he thought I had messed up. Not after knowing me for 20 plus years.

It redefined my view of friendship entirely. This month marks a year since we went our separate ways and I have made peace with his absence. He has deleted my contact number. I still have his. I did not call him on his birthday. I could not take it that he may not pick up the call. Knowing him, he would not. I had to respect his wishes and stay away.

This outburst of emotion has waited for a year to be vomited out into the world. It is a lesson for you, that maybe your friendships that have been perfect for years, relations that have taken years of building and nurturing can fail and fall flat on its face and you may never know what hit you.

I have always had too many friends and them leaving or not respecting my time and values has been normal. But this man, I have to say - I used to miss him. But not anymore and I am tired of answering questions as to how my ex-best friend from 20 plus years is doing. If you ever get to meet him, tell him I have moved on...