Muran 8 : From His Person to Mine

Some people become more than friends. Over the years, they quietly turn into a family.

Especially when your friend’s spouse becomes your friend too — that is a whole different level. And then somehow, the friendship spills into the next generation. My daughter and his daughter adore each other despite the age difference.

Vignesh — my friend, my bro — a friend from school. And Brinda, his lovely wife. They are family.

She is pretty, sophisticated, elegant, has expensive taste, a little introverted… very girly, and loves fashion. She influenced me in many ways she is probably not even aware of. Somewhere along the way, she became my person too. These days, I talk to her more than I do with him.

In fact, my first all-girls trip was with her. We even celebrated her birthday — belatedly.

Their house became my safe haven in Chennai.

Every time I got into a fight with my husband, I would bunk office and go straight to their house unannounced. They would drop whatever they were doing. Sometimes both of them, sometimes one of them would stay back with me, cancel plans, sit through my rant, and let me spiral.

She would support me. Viki would argue with us and bring in a male perspective.

I would stay there for hours. She would make tea, feed me lunch, let me cry and vent. Sometimes, I would even sleep there in the afternoon. And somehow, by evening, I would feel okay enough to go back home.

I genuinely don’t think I would have survived some phases of my life if it weren’t for them.

When they moved to London, I missed them terribly. I cried my eyes out.

And honestly, I know I wouldn’t have had this comfort zone in their home if Brinda hadn’t allowed it. I love her for that and so much more.

Now, every time she visits India, I meet her with a bouquet of roses. We spend a night away — just us and Rosie from my previous post.

I’m painting a rosy picture, right?

But it was not always like this.

It all started with him, Vignesh. We are not going to talk about him too much, though.

He introduced me to his colleagues during an outing — Swamy, Sunesh, Nazeer, and Brinda.

Swamy — friendly.
Sunesh — rude.
Nazeer — sweet.
Brinda — quiet.

I neither liked nor disliked her at that point.

I had my MBA exams at MIT, and Brinda was staying nearby. I was living 15–20 km away, and commuting by public transport felt exhausting. So I checked with Viki to see if I could stay at her place for the week. Then I did, and slowly started liking her.

By the end of the exam week, before leaving, I switched off the lights, handed her a sterling ring as a small gesture for letting me stay there, like a proposal. Eventually, we all started hanging out more.

Later, I sensed a little hostility from her.

She was trying to establish that she was a better friend to him than I was, and honestly, it annoyed me.

At one point, she was even competing with his sister. His sister was clearly offended.

Then came that morning.

It was around 7 a.m. on his birthday.

I had asked him to meet me before office because life had become busy, and I wanted to give him a gift — one I had tried really really really hard to get.

That’s when he said:

“உன்கிட்ட ஒண்ணு சொல்லணும் வினி… எப்படி சொல்றதுன்னு தெரியல…”

I remember thinking, அப்படியேன்ன சொல்லப் போறான்? இவ்வளோ பில்ட்அப் ஆ இருக்கே!

Then after a lot of hesitation he said:

“நானும் பிரிந்தாவும் லவ் பண்றோம்.”

He said it once.

But it echoed inside me ten times. Like cut shorts in a soap opera.

என்னடா சொல்றே?

And immediately, tiny moments started flashing in my memory.

Scene 1: The many times Viki subtly sided with her and prioritized her suggestions over mine.

Scene 2: One day, Viki was worrying about her feet hurting because she was wearing heels. I remember thinking, Something is definitely going on here.

Scene 3: The birthday gift she gave him — a keyboard.

I was angry.

Angry that he hid it from me.

And back then, I also had this strange belief that love between close friends was somehow… blasphemous. I hated the idea.

I immediately called our mutual friend to check if he knew.

He swore he had no clue and said this was news to him, too.

Later, we got scolded by both sets of parents because apparently, they assumed we were all in on it.

“உங்களை எல்லாம் நம்பிதானே ஒண்ணா வெளிய சுத்த அனுப்பினோம்… இப்படி பண்ணிட்டீங்களே!”

Nobody believed me when I said I genuinely had no clue.

 I was mad at Brinda for hijacking my friend.

After a year of struggle, they got married with their parents’ blessings. Somehow, both families came together eventually.

But Brinda and I?

We still weren’t back on track.

I could clearly see Viki being torn between me and her whenever we went into one of our cold wars.

Even the guys could pick up the tension between us.

Of course, neither of us would admit we were hostile toward each other and act cool.

I don’t know when it happened, or exactly how.

But somewhere along the way, we bonded. I do know why.

We shared the same trauma.

Both of us had very strict fathers.

That became our bridge.

We understood each other in ways others couldn’t — the aftermath of growing up with strict fathers, the emotional baggage, how it quietly shapes adult life.

We talked.

And talked.

Day and night.

Hours and hours of unfiltered conversations — about childhood, fears, family, insecurities, and life in general.

That’s how the ice melted.

And somewhere along the way, a sisterhood quietly settled into place.

You never really know, do you?

We were acquaintances for the longest time, never truly friends.

Until one day, we opened up.

And now, we are inseparable.

Life has pleasant little mysteries.

Sometimes, love finds you in the most unexpected people and places.