When the Breeze Brought Back a Friend

    🌿 When the Breeze Brought Back a Friend

                                      A nostalgic reflection on friendship, time, and unexpected reunions

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🪴 Balcony, Breeze, and Bees

There’s something magical about a weekend afternoon. Especially when you’re sitting in your balcony, wrapped in the soft hum of a garden that’s alive — buzzing bees, nosy butterflies, and overconfident squirrels treating your guava tree like it’s theirs.

After lunch, the swing chair becomes a portal. The breeze tugs at your thoughts, your body relaxes, and your mind… well, your mind travels. Not forward — but backward.

So come, sit with me. Close your eyes. Hear the bees hop from hibiscus to jasmine. Somewhere nearby, a bird composes a melody. And if you’re really quiet, you’ll hear laughter — not today’s, but from years ago.

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💬 The Friendships We Thought Would Last Forever

There was a time when we thought our school best friends would be part of our forever. That we’d always call, always meet, and never lose touch. We promised to attend each other’s weddings, name our kids after each other, maybe even grow old in the same colony.

But life… life has other plans. Careers, cities, families, responsibilities — they stretch us out like butter on hot toast. Slowly, those daily conversations shrink to yearly greetings. And then — silence.

Until one day, something stirs the memory.

For me, it happened in a metro.

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🚇 A Metro Ride into the Past

It was one of those rare Bangalore afternoons when the metro wasn’t packed like a tiffin box. A true miracle. I could actually stand without someone breathing down my neck. Legs weren’t twisted like yoga poses. I had full body positioning! Trust me, in Bangalore metro terms, this is luxury.

As we passed through the railway station, two elderly men — somewhere in their early sixties — boarded. They spoke Tamil, with a lilt that came only from Palakkad. Their laughter had no filters. Loud, honest, and filled with something pure — a time before smartphones, before Google, before everyone had LinkedIn but no one had time.

Let me translate what I overheard. Don’t worry — I wasn't eavesdropping. They were practically announcing their life stories over the PA system.

Friend 1: “Hey! You da? After so long!”
Friend 2: “Macha! I’m good! What are you doing here?”
Friend 1: “Going to a friend’s daughter’s wedding.”
Friend 2: “Which friend?”
Friend 1: “Vishwanathan’s daughter.”
Friend 2: “Eh! I’m going to the same one. He was my colleague!”
Friend 1: “What a small world! We were childhood friends. Haven’t seen each other since school.”

And just like that, the dam broke. Memories came rushing.

Friend 2: “Yes, yes. Life, da. Took us everywhere. Retired now. But see, destiny made us meet — in Bangalore metro of all places!”
Friend 1: “Remember the days we travelled from Walayar to Coimbatore for school?”
Friend 2: “How can I forget? And what about Rajesh Unni and Prabakaran?”
Friend 1: silent for a moment “Rajesh... passed away two years ago.”
Friend 2: “What? That health freak? The guy who drank bitter gourd juice like water?”
Friend 1: “Yes, macha. Life’s unpredictable.”

And then came the line that hit me like that one autorickshaw that always jumps the signal:

Friend 2: “When we were young, we chased jobs and money. Now, we have both — but no friends. The friendships we had in childhood were the purest. No ego. No expectations. Just hearts wide open.”

They exchanged numbers. The train arrived at their stop.

Friend 1: “Come da, let’s get down. We’ve got a marriage to attend and memories to relive.”

And just like that, they walked away, laughing, leaning on each other, into the city — and into their past.

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🏫 The School That Lives in My Head

I still had a few stops left. But my mind had already slipped back to those old school days — where the benches held secrets, the walls had witnessed dreams whispered between classes, and friendships were as simple as sharing a pencil or saving a seat during morning assembly.

So many friends. Some still around. Some drifting in and out like radio signals. Some only names on faded photographs.

They were classmates, lunchbox warriors, backbench philosophers, exam-time saviors, and those who stuck around long enough to become family.

Some were seasonal. Some, eternal. But each one? Real.

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🎒 Life, Laughter, and Letting Go

We often think friendship is about consistency. Daily calls. Weekly updates. Birthday reminders.

But maybe, it’s also about silent understanding. That even after years, when we meet — at a wedding, a bus stand, or a random metro — we can talk like nothing ever changed.

So to all my friends — whether we talk or not — thank you.

You were part of my story. A scene, a chapter, a bridge. You helped me laugh when I had no reason to. You showed up when I didn’t expect you to. And even if time pulled us apart, I still carry a little bit of you with me.

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💌 Until We Meet Again…

If you ever see me staring out the window, smiling quietly in a crowded metro, don’t be surprised. Maybe I’m not thinking about work. Maybe I’m just remembering you.

Because friendship never really leaves. It just takes the scenic route back.

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When the Bees Came Calling

                           🐝 When the Bees Came Calling

                                               “A Weekend, A Memory, A Message from the Hive”

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🌤️ A Usual Weekend... Until It Wasn't

It was just past 2:30 in the afternoon. I was lounging on the couch, phone in hand, aimlessly scrolling through the usual mix of news, memes, and randomness. Just another weekend. Nothing special.

Then I heard it—that soft, familiar buzz.

Three honeybees had flown into my living room. Hovering, darting, making that distinct “hummm” that’s hard to ignore if you’ve grown up close to nature.

Now, bees wandering into my home isn’t all that unusual. With a balcony full of plants and fruit trees all around the house, they’re regular visitors. But something about this visit… it tugged at a memory.

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⏪ Rewind: A Farm, a Summer, and a Box Full of Bees

I was maybe 13 or 14. Summer holidays. The kind where time slows down, and the only plan is to stay outdoors.

I was at my grandmother’s home—the place where mud meets memory, and every tree had a story. One afternoon, she mentioned casually,

“Near the gate… by that old tree… I think there’s a honeybee nest splitting. We should move them before they abscond.”

Soon enough, the village “bee man” arrived. I still remember the smell of the smoke, the way he moved with calm confidence. And me? I was wide-eyed. Curious. Buzzing with excitement.

I joined in, of course. First as a spectator. Then, slowly, as a participant.

“They’re calm when they’re together,” he said. “Especially Indian bees. You won’t get stung if you’re gentle.”

He handed me the smoke can, and soon, I was helping move a living swarm—my fingers trembling but heart racing. I even helped shift the queen.

Sure, a few bees stung me. But that sting? It was nothing compared to the thrill of being part of something so ancient and alive.

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⏩ Fast Forward: Silence Where Buzz Once Lived

Years passed. On another visit to the farm, I ran to check the hive boxes we had installed after those adventures. One, two, three…

But something was wrong.

One box—the liveliest one, always filled with the hum of life—was quiet. Too quiet.

I walked over, crouched, and saw them… dozens of bees lying still beneath the stand. Lifeless.
I opened the lid. Even the queen was gone.

I asked around. Researched. Pieced it together.
Nearby farms had sprayed chemicals. The bees, doing what they always do—collecting nectar—brought back poison instead.

That hive had been bursting with honey. Now it was a grave.

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🐝 When the Bees Spoke

As I sat on the sofa that weekend, watching the three little bees move around my hall, it was like something shifted. The hum became a conversation. A whisper.
Maybe I imagined it. Maybe not.
But I heard them.

🐝 Bee 1: “It smells familiar… This used to be a safe zone. The garden still blossoms.”
🐝 Bee 2: “Let’s just rest a while. So many of our kind are gone. Lost to sprays and smoke.”
🐝 Bee 3: “But look! Guava flowers outside… Maybe there's still hope.”

And then the memories poured in.

🐝 Bee 1: “Do you remember the mango grove near the old well? Lush blooms, no sprays. Every flower welcomed us.”
🐝 Bee 2: “That land is barren now. Concrete has replaced trees. Where do bees go when there’s no home left?”
🐝 Bee 3: “I tried the sunflower fields. The nectar tasted wrong. We lost many sisters there.”

A quiet hum. A moment of mourning. And then—resolve.

🐝 Bee 1: “We’ve survived storms. Fires. Even floods. We’ll keep flying.”
🐝 Bee 2: “Do humans even know? Without us, their plates would be empty.”
🐝 Bee 3: “Let’s go. The guava blooms won’t last long.”

And just like that, they were gone. Out through the window, into the light, and onto the guava tree.
Back to work. Back to saving the world, one flower at a time.

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🌱 Why This Matters—To You, Me, and Everyone Who Eats

Bees don’t just make honey.
They make life happen.

Over 75% of the food we eat relies on pollinators like them. Fruits. Vegetables. Even coffee.

In India, we’re lucky to have native bees like the Indian honeybee (Apis cerana indica)—hardy, humble, and used to our ways.
Then there’s the stingless bee, tiny and gentle but mighty in pollination.
And the rock bee (Apis dorsata)—wild, strong, and fierce, nesting high on cliffs and tall trees.

But they’re disappearing. Quietly. Rapidly.

And the world is barely noticing.

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🌻 What Can We Do? (It’s Simpler Than You Think)

• 🌼 Plant more flowers. Native ones. Ones bees love.
• 🚫 Avoid harmful pesticides. Even better, go organic.
• 🍯 Buy local honey. Support your neighborhood beekeepers.
• 🐝 Teach kids about bees. Let them grow up buzzing with awareness.

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💛 A Final Thought

That day, I didn’t just meet three bees.
I reconnected with a part of myself.
A boy who once held a queen bee in his hand. A boy who watched life fly. And die.

Maybe those bees were messengers. Maybe memories. Maybe both.
But one thing I know for sure—
When bees come calling, listen. They carry stories, and warnings… and hope.

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