We met in our youth. Dreamy and fearless, carefree and ambitious. The world was literally our playground. Strangers usually connect over a common love for the movies or books, we bonded over new beginnings. Fresh out of college, the 24/7 world of broadcast television became our second home.
A few months into our job, and while still adjusting to the adrenalin of a newsroom, we were summoned. It was time for the next step, the heady world of news reading. Carefree as we were, thus still made us nervous, but thankfully, we were going to share this adventure too. We anchored our first news bulletin on the same day. Petrified that a word would disappear if we took even a single breath, we were twin images of each other, sitting like statues and not blinking. They must have seen something in us which we frankly couldn't, because they called us back. Or then, maybe they really didn't have anyone else looking bright and chirpy at 6 am!
Families and friends smiled patronizingly at our new on-screen roles, but we had each other, so slowly, we came out of our shells and together became more confident on camera than in real life. And just like that, our work lives became an extension of our personal space. As rookies, the graveyard shifts became more common than working a normal 9-5 day. We kept our sleeping bags in office, often napping or eating a snack under tables in between bulletins. Appropriately by then, we had become "4 am friends''.
I can't seem to recollect why our conversations were always at an unearthly hour - maybe in those days, keeping awake night after night was the routine, or I guess when you are young, there is fun in not doing the defined. Now in hindsight, we know what to expect from our girls, because even then, from star-gazing (and not quite the celestial type) to office politics, the long landline cables trailed us from room to room. Those were good times, but finding your feet in the real world is never easy. They say what doesn't break you always makes you stronger. Years later, we would remember that lesson.
There were many seasons in the sun, but each also quietly added another line to our face. Marriage, husband, children - equations change, priorities become different. By now we had both put our ambitions on the backburner and stopped working, but what remained constant were our phone calls. Now though, there was no chosen hour - any time was a stolen moment. Inevitably, conversations began to change.
We no longer had the luxury of talking fashion or who ran away without whom, we were too busy decoding diapers or educating ourselves on how best to get our kids into school. Nor could we think of coffee breaks because the only time-outs were an ice-cream outing and it didn't do much for our calories. But as any new mother will tell you, sleep always wins over calories or a phone call.
Slowly, our chats began to mirror those of our mothers. We now knew how exasperated our parents had been when we couldn't find a book lying next to us or when the vegetables on the plate were scattered like a rainforest. The days of Bollywood-themed parties were long gone. By now, the calls had become erratic and sometimes so brief that we barely said a hello before running to find a piece of Lego. Our everyday world had taken over.
When the phone rings in the middle of the night, it is not always good news.
Her father had cancer. Our world was turned upside down. He was like a father figure to me, the only person who didn't laugh when we had stared at the auto-cue with a deadpan expression, the one person who told me time and time again, raise your kids but don't lose your identity.
For the next two years, there were several calls a day. They were bitter-sweet, her solace during the tough times, her world away from harsh reality. She went abroad with her father for treatment, I shifted to another country but this remained our constant. We rode the rough times and they were bad. It's not easy holding hands across the seas, but sometimes the comfort of the old and the familiar gets one through.
Some pain will never go away; it's been a year since she lost her father and we have collectively laughed and cried at the memories. But she has learnt to smile again. I often tell her she is especially gifted because she makes others smile even though she needs to heal.
Friends will come and many of them will also leave; it is the law of the ''hood". Those who stay are the ones who have your back. Because you have to only ask and they deliver, no matter what. Because they make a choice even when you don't ask them to choose. Because a lifetime of memories is hard to beat.
Now, as the year ends and we count our blessings, I realize someone very sensible out there allowed us to choose our friends. Maybe she and I didn't even do that - we just found each other. One a happy soul, the other somewhat cynical. One who still needs to put honey in Nutella to sweeten it, and the other who always speaks of just desserts.
Here we are now, two decades later, a little unfit but fittingly stronger in a different way, making school runs and adamantly managing a coffee or two in between, somewhat jaded but still attached to our dreams. We may not speak at 4 am anymore, but what we know now is this friendship is timeless.
(Jyotsna Mohan Bhargava is a former journalist who now divides her time between blogging and being a full-time mother.)Disclaimer: The opinions expressed within this article are the personal opinions of the author. The facts and opinions appearing in the article do not reflect the views of NDTV and NDTV does not assume any responsibility or liability for the same.