My friend Ajit
A story about two teenagers and their lifelong mateship
I was fifteen, and Ajit was fourteen. We were in separate boarding schools during school terms. I was in a Christian brothers’ formative boarding while Ajit was in the school boarding. But we attended the same school. His boarding was on-premise. The first time I met Ajit was during our school’s annual concert. I was drawn to him with his stylish clothes, highlighted by a pair of white suede shoes. We did not talk much; our conversation started with cheerful smiles and lasted only a few minutes. Ajit Eustace Martin was his full name.
It did not take long for us to become friends after that encounter. We met regularly during school breaks. It was natural for two cheerful boys to bond and chatter. We met in the school in its canteen, under the school’s big banyan tree, on the staircases in the big buildings. During lunch breaks, I visited his boarding, meeting him and many of his bubbly fellow borders. Ajit was a year junior to me in class.
What stood out for me was Ajit’s wit. He was quick-witted and could laugh at any situation, even at himself. That was a huge asset, trying to assert me and find my place. We had lots in common, living similar lifestyles to timetables. We were good at looking after ourselves, which comes naturally to student borders. Regular routines in boarding schools provided us with a range of life skills at an early age, like being organised and independent.
As the school year was ending, Ajit and I planned what we could do during the coming Christmas holidays. Exchanging addresses, I promised to visit Ajit at his home during the holidays.
During the holidays, there was an unforeseen problem. Ajit contracted chickenpox putting our juvenile plans in jeopardy. After I got his postcard about his sickness, I pondered whether to visit him.
Keeping my promise to my good friend, despite the risk of me getting chickenpox, I took off to Ajit’s home, some forty kilometres away, taking a multimode of transport, a combination of bus, train rides and long walks. My parents had no idea that the friend I was visiting was down with chickenpox. Good friendships were for better or worse.
Two hours later, I was at Ajit’s home; Ajit was lying resting in the front room, his body full of blisters. I was happy to see him again. He, in turn, was delighted that I came to see him. Little did he know that was the longest trip I had travelled on my own by then. I spent hours chatting with him at his bedside. It pained me to see his body ravaged by red dotty blisters. But cheerful Ajit was full of his usual humour and chatter.
I met Ajit’s father, Jeff, a fair, tall, flamboyant, and charming character. Uncle Jeff called me ‘Putha’, meaning son in local. He had an accent when he spoke. His looks and accent fit his skin colour, and the European features came from his English ancestry. I met Ajit’s eager and happy siblings, sister Shanti and the two brothers, Rohan and Marius, all three younger than Ajit. They were just like their elder brother, full of zest with a happy-go-lucky attitude. They treated me as one of their own. Their mum’s sister. Aunty Kitty, a spinster, lived with them. Their old and feeble grandfather, Mum’s father, also lived with them. They had a maid to help them with their household chores, a dark young girl, Menika.
I spent the whole day with Ajit, mostly sitting at his bedside. By late afternoon, the two brothers dropped me at the train station, walking from their home. I returned home at sunset, taking the long route of train and bus rides. Back at home for the next few days, I looked at my body for any signs of chickenpox. Fortunately for me, I did not get any.
At the beginning of the new year, I left my boarding for good, continuing in the school as a day student, travelling from home. Ajit continued in school boarding during school terms.
I had no plans to do higher studies (HSC) and instead wanted to study accounting at Aquinas University. To study accounting bypassing high school, one required stellar marks in the General Certificate Examination (GCE) for advanced mathematics. When the results came in, my marks were short. I did not allow my less-than-ideal marks in the general certificate examination to stop my dream. Bypassing HSC, I decided to go back to year 10 and re-sit my exam.
I was now in the same class as Ajit Martin, in year 10, in class D. I was a happy boy, studying with my best friend. His friendship helped me to junk skeletons in the cupboard and my previous experiences in the Christian brothers' boarding house, which I was glad to leave. Study subjects were effortless to follow the second time around. It was an easy transition with no pressure.
Ajit and I had great fun listening to each other’s yarns and adventures in class. It was a happy time, enjoying Ajit’s infectious love of life.
On occasional weekends, I visited Ajit’s home staying over and enjoying the Martin hospitality, which was plenty. Ajit’s home was always full of action and laughter. It was a joy to be among them, experiencing new things and adventures.
In April that year, I took a holiday in the hill country with the Martin siblings, staying over at his mother’s official bungalow, where she, Irene Martin, was the hospital’s matron.
While Ajit’s mother was busy with her full-time work at the hospital, Ajit and I had a great time with his brothers. Put four fearless boys together, and you could imagine the daring things they got up to. There was not a single dull moment. We walked in the adjoining tea estates enjoying the lush scenery. Whenever Ajit and I could, we dodged the two brothers and smoked, hiding among the tea bushes. We stopped at natural water streams on our daily . In the days when wearing undies was a novel thing, we stripped and bathed nude without a care for the rest of the world in the open air. We were free, liberated four boys, enjoying our extended siblinghood when youth had no shame. Shame comes with age.
Shanti, Ajit’s sister, stayed back in the hospital quarters. Four testosterone-led, fearless boys were not good company for Shanti.
Ajit’s mum, Aunty Irene, was a super mum. She was the matron in charge of all wards, nursing and cleaning at the regional hospital in this hilly town where we stayed. She grew her vegetables, beans, tomatoes and ladies' fingers. When we returned from our sojourns in the bush, a luscious meal was always waiting for us, lovingly cooked by Aunty Irene and helped by Shanti. I will leave it for you to imagine four hormone-induced teenage and pubescent boys at that dining table, waiting to gallop that meal. It was left to Shanti, Ajit’s sister, to keep the peace between the lads at the table.
Back at school, most days, after school, I hung out with my classmates with Ajit. We visited our mutual friends’ homes and often were fed by their doting mothers. We watched inter-school cricket and soccer matches and visited libraries. We exchanged a range of English novels, mostly saucy and detective stories. We exchanged Playboy magazines. At that tender age, it was a biological imperative to discover our sexuality together.
My best school year was that year, the year I spent with Ajit in the same class. We had a great set of mutual friends. The classroom was always full of action, with many boyhood discoveries and fun. We watched movies after school, sometimes matinee shows, skipping class. Our particular interest was in movies with erotic scenes, watching ‘adults only’ Western movies dodging entry rules at the ticket counters.
My English language skills improved tremendously during this period. With that self-confidence and Ajit’s encouragement, I applied for a scholarship to the USA on a student exchange program. I nearly won it, missing out as the second-best candidate. We both learnt to be fashionable, picking our styles and choices carefully. We were increasingly becoming independent with a wide variety of worldly exposures.
During the next school holidays, I again holidayed with Ajit and his siblings in the hill country at their mum’s. Our days were filled with freedom only afforded to carefree teenage boys looking out for the next adventure. We swam in reservoirs and fished. Ajit and I smoked in between, hiding from his brothers. We associated with the boys living in the hospital compound, playing with them in the hilly valleys on sunny afternoons. We shopped in town for Ajit’s mum and watched movies at the local cinema. We walked miles among the bushes in green tea estates discovering natural beauties, springs and bathing spots living our boyhood dreams. Now that we were teenagers and male, the four boys slept in a detached bungalow within the hospital compound, segregated from the female nurses as a mark of respect for the opposite sex.
Back at school, I enjoyed my emerging role as a mediator and facilitator among my friends. Sometimes our mutual friends argued over silly matters, as every teenager would. I talked to the parties separately ed to repair their boyhood relationships. I opened a contact book where I recorded everyone’s addresses. I became a natural organiser with planned social events, whether a movie, a cycling trip, or a visit on the weekend to a friend’s home or a venue. Some cycling trips on the weekends covered 30 kilometres each way. Then the occasional weekend at Ajit’s home, enjoying the Martin hospitality and having fun.
Ajit had a caring relationship with me, always looking out for me. His friendship helped me to see the world, a bright one at that, with its dynamism, challenges, and pitfalls. Ajit contributed a lot to my coming of age.
At the end of that year, I sat for the exam, my second attempt to get my marks to enter Aquinas University College. I passed with the marks needed and left college at the beginning of the next year. Ajit continued his studies at the same school.
But we kept in touch. I continued to visit Ajit at his home during university breaks and on weekends. Our friendship foundation was laid solidly; we hid nothing from each other. Ajit had a range of friends, both sexes, who became my friends. He was into music and learnt to play the guitar. He loved his singing. Music was in his blood and his hobby. So whenever Ajit visited me at my home for a weekend, he brought his guitar.
In my late teens, I argued with my mother and ran away from home. Where would I turn up? I came to Ajit’s home and stayed incommunicado with my family for a few days. Ajit looked after me during that troublesome time. When I settled in, he encouraged me to return home, which I thankfully did by contacting my father. I did not become a runaway kid because of Ajit.
At eighteen, I started working. Ajit was still studying for his exams. Ajit’s father, Uncle Jeff, worked in a bank in the city. During lunch breaks from work, I’d walk into Jeff’s office to pass messages to Ajit or a letter. Uncle Jeff, elated, on seeing me walking towards him in the bank lobby, would shout ‘Putha’, meaning son, with his elevated accent, exactly like he did a few years earlier when I visited their home for the first time to see Ajit down with chickenpox. Then, he’d proudly tell his co-workers, pointing at me, that this boy was his son’s best friend. Customers in the bank’s lobby would look at me with awe, who this suave man with English looks was so fond of.
A couple of years later, I went to Dubai. I kept in touch with Ajit, writing letters regularly. During every holiday in Sri Lanka from Dubai, we visited each other, often staying at each other’s homes.
A few short years later, in our early twenties, Ajit came to Dubai on holiday. Ajit stayed with me for a few days in my apartment. We had the best times together, him singing with his guitar and entertaining my friends and me in sunny Dubai.
I am immensely grateful for Ajit’s love of life, gusto, and ballsy attitude. His contribution to my well-being back in the day, with his unique communication style, taking the mickey out of any situation, made me laugh at myself.
Where is Ajit today?:
Ajit lives in Sri Lanka. He lives in the home where we met, now renovated.
Ajit’s younger sister. Shanti lives in South Carolina, and his two brothers, Rohan and Marius, live in Sri Lanka. Their father, Jeff, lived up to ninety-seven in retirement with Ajit’s brother, Rohan. Up until his mid-nineties, Jeff drove his car. Ajit’s mother, Irene, the benevolent kind soul and super mum, passed away some twenty years ago.
Ajit and I remain lifelong friends, sharing our joys, sorrows and challenges. Many decades later now, we are both grandfathers in our twilight years, We are proud of our friendship, formed when we were budding boys out to discover the world.
We both are very different people now, Ajit living in Sri Lanka all his life and me having left Sri Lanka six years after I met him. But our fraternity and love for each other remain today, sealed by a friendship built on innocence and curiosity despite our divergent experiences since.
Stories of Denzil’s friends — some are heart-wrenching
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