Friends
Vinoo was beaming - holding his little kids close to him in the Whatsapp picture.
He was still very recognizable - same face, just grown up.
Vinod Sutar, as I knew him growing up - next door neighbor, ok batsman and ok bowler. Kinda like me. Soft spoken, unlike me.
We became friends fast. And our clothing was never anybody’s subject of envy.
I always thought he and Amrut Sutar were brothers. Same surname. Had to be related. Definitely had to be first cousins. Had to be.
And they lived right next to each other.
Although, their mothers surely didn’t like each other. Their screaming matches would vacillate between hilarious and scary.
The men would join in too sometimes - but with no conviction. They knew it was pointless venting. They had other worries.
Thank god for that wall that separated their houses. That wall that absorbed and held every omen, invective and general incivility that was hurled by two humans seemingly towards each other.
But they were never nasty when faced with the other. We never ever understood that.
Maybe you need walls to grow hatred?
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