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I was not sure whether to write this as a short story or a poem. Its too short even for a short story, but a poem would not do this topic justice. I shall try to build it up as it goes along...btw, all the incidents mentioned in the story, actually happened..only they're taken out of context.

He was an old friend. Back when I was growing up in Dubai, he had been one of my closest buddies. His name was Varun. I still remember this one time when all us friends were playing hide and seek, and we were to stay within the limits of the building. He decided that he and I would run over to the park across the road, watch the fun as they futilely searched every nook and cranny of the humongous building. We stayed there for half an hour, playing ball in the court and swinging away to glory on the swings. After which we suddenly remembered the hide and seek game. We silently made our way back to the building and confronted the seekers. The expression on their faces when we told them we were in the building! Their flummoxed look still makes me laugh.

He used to love animals and birds, and had a variety of them in his house. He was athletic, smart, funny. I used to be cherubic those days, but he never made me bad about it. But yeah his taste in music was, funny. Although he always defended it whenever we made fun of it. But by god, did he have a bad sense of time! This one day when we were playing cricket on this ground near our house, I called him to join us. He told me over the phone that he'd be there in ten minutes flat. Only he turned up an hour and a half late, when we were ready to leave for home. From then on, all of us pleaded with him never to say that he'd be there in ten minutes. We kept ribbing him about it, an inside joke we guys had. And I remember how that year on April Fool's day, all our jokes had him as our target. And how he didn't fall for any of them!

Of course that was years ago. We were in college now and I was back in India. Hadn't really spoken to him in a while, but I had my memories. The best times were when we used to go school in the same bus. All us friends from the building in the school and school bus. Our haunt was the last few rows in the bus, where everyone used to laugh and joke with everyone, profanities flew, arguments heated up and were soothed down. It was such a node of chatter, I still remember it very vividly. Varun and I were always a team, putting up a united front. Sure I had other friends, some just as close, but I remembered him best. Always full of life.

He died last week.

Today morning, my grandpa who used to live with us even in Dubai and who was good friends with Varun's grandpa, gingerly came up to me.

'I've got news for you..'

'Yes grampa?'

'Remember your friend Varun in Dubai? He, he died last week.' He sat down beside, in case I broke down or something. I just sat there, stock still. I didn't know what to say, what to think, what to feel. I was just numb. But he just sat there. After a minute I muttered.

'How?' my voice was hoarse and sounded tinny and distant.

'Apparently one of his turtles were on the edge of the railing in his balcony. Remember how his fourth floor balcony overlooked the garden? Well he rushed out to catch it, slipped on some water on the floor and toppled over the railing. His head hit the slide in the garden and he died on the way to the hospital.' He said this all in a rush, as if glad to get it out. I kept nodding, continued even after he was done speaking. Strangely I didn't feel like crying even though I was very sad. But then tears don't come easy to me.

'I just feel bad that I wasn't in contact with him all these years. He used to be one of my best friends..'

'I know. That's why I was hesitant to tell you.'

'But how did you know?' Something that I should have asked first but didn't.

'His grandpa and I are still in touch. We write letters to each other every month. I got his today. Poor man is devastated. To see the lifeless body of your own grandson. Must be horrible!'

I spoke no further. The shock was ebbing, but the sadness stayed firmly rooted. He did not move from my side either, a silent companion that I welcomed. After a few minutes, I heard him chuckle ruefully. I looked at him questioningly.

'I was just wondering. Its funny how we oldies, what with our technical incompetence and reliance on archaic communication methods are more in touch than you kids. You have your internet, your mobiles, that headbook thing, what do you call it? Yeah, facebook. How come you never spoke to him in so long? He was your best friend. I mean then maybe you wouldn't feel as much regret would you?..' Then he probably realized that he wasn't saying the best things under the situation and his voice petered out.

And I didn't really have any answer to give him. How was it that the older generations had more work to do, lesser efficient methods to reach out, and yet they kept it touch? Sometimes for a lifetime. And how was our generation, with everything literally a touch or a click away, and all the spare time in the world, so woeful at it? Did we not care as much as they did? Had we become so self-centered and absorbed that somewhere down the line we let those important threads slip out of our hand? But amongst all these generic questions, again a very personal lanced through.

Why hadn't I called or messaged him one last time?! Damn this regret eating at my soul.