I’m in Mattu, sipping masala chai under the thatched roof of the primary health care center. Not many patients today. I can see the beach from here. I can hear the call of the ocean. It feels like home. This is the perfect time for this entry. It’s raining. There is something pleasurable in the discomfort caused by monsoons. They wash away the dirt and grime of summer, leaving behind the smell of freshly turned earth.
Sharmila told me that you passed away. She said it was a road traffic accident. You always did look good on that motorbike. I feel sad that you did not get to fulfill your dreams. However, from what I can see of life, you are not missing much my friend.
Even if we weren’t the closest of pals, I always thought that you were a good, decent man. An endangered species. I will miss your gentle presence in this world. Who knows, we might meet again someday, in another time and place. Perhaps we will even get to sit around and joke about Amir’s “Malaysian Connection’ once again…
PS: I never did figure out why we started calling you Cruz.