Birds of varied plumage

Have you sometimes stepped back in your mind and looked at your friends objectively with an unbiased mind, unclouded by sentiment? And have you wondered what you share in common with them as you reflect long and hard on some of their traits? Do birds of feather really flock together in the species we belong to?

You think of a particularly materialistic member of your gang of ageing girls who rambles on endlessly about the latest addition to her already bursting-at-the-seams wardrobe and her high-tech gizmo driven household and you wonder how many more plumes she (or anyone) requires.

There's that party girl in your midst who begins her day somewhere near midnight and is as fresh as daisy at four in the morning, having danced her feet off, while you wilt in a corner and marvel - not much seems to have changed for her in terms of energy and enthusiasm over the last two or three decades. Could you really have sustained a friendship over all that time, when she lies down to sleep around the time you get up each day? How did you fit in moments to catch up, to talk, between her waking hours and yours?

Then there's the scatterbrain who burns the vegetables on a regular basis and forgets to buy the provisions for the household, then looks at the hungry squad that awaits her and utters a very puzzled, "What?" (Short for "What did you think? My name is written on that job portfolio?") She's certainly a step ahead of the gal pal who was the life and soul of the group, the ringleader in every escapade when both of you were in your teens, but who has now allowed life to not merely weigh her down and exhaust her (life has a way of doing that to even the most chirpy), but who has honestly and truly forgotten that she was that exciting and enchanting person.

Getting into trouble

She cannot understand why her own children are eternally getting into trouble now; she actually cannot see her genes in theirs!

And what about one of the most annoying of them (in your opinion), the one who takes the long way around when she sees anything on four legs approaching while you rush up to the animal and kootchie-koo it and yourself into a squirming bundle of flying fur, waggly tail and happy licks.

Finally, the one who wins hands down in the contest of obnoxiousness - she of the perfect home, perfect children, perfect attire, perfect manners and a whole string of other assorted perfections. Can you get any more offensive than that? And what could she share with you of the monotonous clothing, capricious housekeeping and parenting that wouldn't even qualify for that name?

They say that yours is life well lived if you have five good friends to sustain you. Five people who share your thoughts, whom you can communicate with at the same level, who are on the same wave length, as we'd say in days of yore. Well, you've gone beyond that. You have these six and many more of their ilk, give or take a few stray fads and fancies and a couple of fears and phobias here and there. The funny thing is that you can see them so clearly for what they are. Probably they can see you, too, in your awful mix of inconsistencies and idiosyncrasies. You wonder what you share in common, why you remain friends, and then you realise (once you've lived long enough) that what you called chemistry when you were younger is nothing more than a little of you in each of them and a little of each of them in you. A lot of variety - a colourful blend!

Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.