Mihail, my Bulgarian friend who lives nearby, recently visited his native land. On return he told me several people he knew in Sofia complained, “Why aren’t you in Facebook? You should go there and ‘friend’ us, so that we can be in touch.”
He told me he replied, “That is why I am not in Facebook. I would like to keep in touch with you.”
His response intrigued me, and made think.
He told me he replied, “That is why I am not in Facebook. I would like to keep in touch with you.”
His response intrigued me, and made think.
Who is a friend? There can be many criteria and many ways of expressing them. None is simpler than this: a friend is a person you like to sit next to and sip a Pinio Grigio.
In Sanskrit there are four words for a friend and a charming couplet that defines how each word highlights a key aspect of friendship:
Think of that for a moment.
Whose absence do you feel? A woman, whose husband passed away just two years ago after twenty years of marriage, tells me she rarely thinks of him. I may have looked a little astonished, for she added, “There are too many things to do, too many things to think about.” We all have things to do and things to think about, too many apparently to waste time feeling the absence of people who mattered in our lives. Think of the pageant of friends who passed through your life, were even close to you in school or college, in work or club, and have now faded into oblivion.
Did you feel you had chemistry in your relationship with someone? Surely your life is not the arid desert where you never struck a chord with anyone you met? Then why is the person gone for ever, lost in the dreary fog of the past? We have the technical means today of overcoming space and time, so I can’t say any more, “He went to work in another country” or “She married and moved.” If we lost a link, it is because we dropped the thread. We have to wonder whether we were really friends.
In Sanskrit there are four words for a friend and a charming couplet that defines how each word highlights a key aspect of friendship:
- One whose absence you feel
- One with whom you have chemistry
- One with whom you like to be
- One with whom your heart beats.
Think of that for a moment.
Whose absence do you feel? A woman, whose husband passed away just two years ago after twenty years of marriage, tells me she rarely thinks of him. I may have looked a little astonished, for she added, “There are too many things to do, too many things to think about.” We all have things to do and things to think about, too many apparently to waste time feeling the absence of people who mattered in our lives. Think of the pageant of friends who passed through your life, were even close to you in school or college, in work or club, and have now faded into oblivion.
Did you feel you had chemistry in your relationship with someone? Surely your life is not the arid desert where you never struck a chord with anyone you met? Then why is the person gone for ever, lost in the dreary fog of the past? We have the technical means today of overcoming space and time, so I can’t say any more, “He went to work in another country” or “She married and moved.” If we lost a link, it is because we dropped the thread. We have to wonder whether we were really friends.
Even more, did you know anybody with whom you liked to be and you felt your hearts moved in unison? How come then you don’t remember her last name or don’t even have his phone number? A colleague said, “At first I was too busy in my work, trying to prove my worth. Then it was the family – wife, children, responsibilities. I didn’t sustain the friendships I had. Now, I am friendless. What I call friends are really acquaintances.”
Friends do turn up in our lives. They weren’t perfect to be sure; nor are we. Subhas Roy, a special friend, once said, “The test of a friendship is the angularities we are prepared to overlook for its sake.” Maybe those angularities are what makes the friendship special and unique.
You have probably met someone charming and you would like to be with that person. For how long? Could you endure his or her proximity for ten or twenty years? Could you live with the person in the same apartment? Would you like the person even in the next apartment for a couple of years? As for the beating heart, many have felt it beat fast and furious for a while and then go dead, as Lord Keynes foretold, in the long run of three weeks.
Friends do turn up in our lives. They weren’t perfect to be sure; nor are we. Subhas Roy, a special friend, once said, “The test of a friendship is the angularities we are prepared to overlook for its sake.” Maybe those angularities are what makes the friendship special and unique.
You have probably met someone charming and you would like to be with that person. For how long? Could you endure his or her proximity for ten or twenty years? Could you live with the person in the same apartment? Would you like the person even in the next apartment for a couple of years? As for the beating heart, many have felt it beat fast and furious for a while and then go dead, as Lord Keynes foretold, in the long run of three weeks.
Now 2 billion people, a quarter of all the people in the world, have turned to the idea of ‘friending,’ of linking electronically with another person and exchanging names, photos, birthdays and short messages. Clearly, this is a touch-and-go type of relationship, where we connect fleetingly, with a shot of the pie I have cooked, the party I attended or even the pimple I have crushed. Few talk of the void of their heart or the loneliness of their soul.
So, while Mark Zuckerberg talks of linking the world, many wonder if this kind of linking can satisfy our longing for friends. This is what my Bulgarian friend was talking about: friending is an ersatz type of friendship that can keep you busy and give you an ephemeral sense of bonding with a billion, but leave you bereft of the warmth of personal linking. The kind of linking that lets you explore with another your deepest concerns. Your loves and hates lie far deeper.
So, while Mark Zuckerberg talks of linking the world, many wonder if this kind of linking can satisfy our longing for friends. This is what my Bulgarian friend was talking about: friending is an ersatz type of friendship that can keep you busy and give you an ephemeral sense of bonding with a billion, but leave you bereft of the warmth of personal linking. The kind of linking that lets you explore with another your deepest concerns. Your loves and hates lie far deeper.
Maybe faces in Facebook have a point. If I can’t have you near me, if I can’t see you or talk to you, probably technology can let us stay in touch, until that glorious moment when we can resume our golden nexus.
So, my friend, sit down next to me and have a glass of Pinio Grigio. I wouldn’t mind at all if you prefer a Merlot – or even a glass of milk.
So, my friend, sit down next to me and have a glass of Pinio Grigio. I wouldn’t mind at all if you prefer a Merlot – or even a glass of milk.
RSS Feed