Musings of a White Haired Teenager

Secrets. What fun are secrets if you cannot share it with everyone and say, "I am telling you in confidence." We all have secrets. None of us are open books because in the deepest recess of our minds we know there are things we will never share. The fears, the griefs, the aspirations, and the achievements that no one knows about. There are things we have done that no one knows about other than the self. These are moments that are so supremely personal, and they will burn with my body. Yet secrets tempt us - there are moments, over a drink with a bondhu, without realizing, without planning, without strategizing the secret is spilled. A bondhu you trust. Really? With that secret? Can anyone be trusted? As one bondhu once said, "one picture" and it is all over. Moments that need to remain buried, think about it - that moment that was supposed to be a secret - a personal moment - do you want that revealed? To be dragged out in the open that you did that. You did what? S

Saathi. I have spent some time in talking about a bondhu. A term that has very specific meanings in Bangla, a language that is spoken in the state of West Bengal in India and all of Bangladesh. Another similar sentiment is encoded in another Bangla word - saathi. The partner, the companion. Perhaps. A word that is infused in meanings that cross across many relational definitions. The English words partner, and companion begin to scratch the surface of the word saathi. The saathi holds your hand as you traverse the maze that is life. The hand holding signifies that one leads the other. Taking turns. There are moments when the saathi knows the way, and there are moments when the saathi is lost. Yet we all have saathis whose hands we can clench and be assured that we will never be lost. You trust the saathi with your life, knowing that this is the person who will rebuke you when you cross the boundaries of safety, will pull your hand and center you back in the safe place, who will press y