One of Us Plans. The Other Went to Pune.

One of Us Plans. The Other Went to Pune. On friendship, differences, and the little adjustments that bring us closer.

I went to learn yoga. Somewhere along the way, a friendship began to grow.A senior friend had nudged me towards yoga while I was navigating anxiety and the challenges of perimenopause. For someone as restless as me, the idea of slowing down on a mat felt rather unfamiliar. But I walked into Rupali’s studio with an open mind.

I could hardly have known that, alongside learning to stretch my body, I would find myself learning something about making room for another person.Rupali became my yoga teacher, and over time, my friend.

There have been walks where conversation made the distance disappear. And then there were telephone conversations that bridged an entirely different kind of distance.

When Rupali decided to “run away” to Pune, with no return timeline our conversations travelled with her. Ten-minute calls would stretch to an hour. We exchanged photographs from our daily lives, little glimpses that let us be part of each other’s day even when we were far apart.

Our food photographs, I must add, could qualify for awards. We have given our meals quite the modelling career.

Food has also brought a quieter change. Her mindful eating, her habit of sharing food and making sure it does not go to waste, have rubbed off on me. There have been gestures like her bringing me my favourite rajma–chawal too. Sometimes care arrives in a tiffin box.

But our bond has also held tears, silence, nonstop chatter, disagreements, and communication issues. Some days, words have flowed. On others, understanding has taken more effort.

We are poles apart. I am super organized. I plan. She is quite the opposite. I hold long-term associations and friendships close to my heart. She says she does not believe in long term. 🙂

One of us likes a timeline. The other went to Pune without a return date. You can appreciate the scope for discussion.

Yet, over the past year, we have both changed. We have made tiny adjustments for each other. We are still ourselves, but perhaps a little more aware that our choices affect someone we care about. That, to me, is worth paying attention to.

Recently, I found myself thinking about the relationships that bring a smile to our faces and peace to our hearts. I thought of Rupali. Then another question followed: how do we look after such bonds?

Especially when we seem to have so little patience left.Making a new friend when we already have a whole life.

This friendship has also made me think about something we do not discuss enough: making friends as adults.

As children, we often had another chance to connect built into tomorrow. The same classroom. The same playground. Someone to sit beside again after an awkward first conversation.

As adults, even a cup of tea can require three calendar checks and a “let us definitely meet soon” that survives longer than some houseplants.

Work, family responsibilities, tiredness, distance there are real demands on our time. The repeated, ordinary contact that helps familiarity grow often needs to be arranged.

We also arrive with more history. We have habits we like, disappointments we remember, and ideas about what friendship should look like. Sometimes we want someone to understand us while feeling rather reluctant to explain ourselves all over again.

There is vulnerability in making the first move too. What if my invitation is unwelcome? What if I care more? What if I make space for someone who eventually leaves?

Perhaps it feels safer to say we do not have time.

My friendship with Rupali reminds me to leave a little room for the unexpected. I walked into a yoga studio to attend a class. The friendship grew through the contact that followed: walks, conversations, photographs, food, and learning about each other beyond the roles in which we first met.

Being open to a new friend also means allowing that person to be unfamiliar for a while. They cannot arrive knowing what an old friend has taken twenty years to learn.

What I want to remember about adult friendship

Make a small, specific invitation. “Would you like a short walk this weekend?” gives a connection somewhere to begin. We do not have to wait until we can offer an entire free afternoon.

Let familiarity grow through repetition. A call, a shared activity, a photograph from an ordinary day. Every interaction does not need to be profound. Our award-worthy food photography has its place in this story too.

Share at a pace both people can hold. Closeness takes time. We can be sincere without expecting immediate access to every private part of someone’s life. Asking whether someone has the time and energy to listen is a form of care.

Be curious about differences. A new friend need not share our age, routine, or approach to life. I would miss a great deal if I made being organised a condition of friendship. Rupali might have something to say about my conditions anyway. 🙂

Express a need before turning it into a test. If regular contact matters, say so. Quietly withdrawing to see whether someone notices can create more confusion than understanding. Neither person should need to be a mind reader.

Notice reciprocity over time. A friendship need not be perfectly equal every week. But both people should have room to initiate, be heard, and receive care. A declined invitation with another day suggested tells a different story from a pattern of no interest. We can allow for a busy season while still noticing whether there is mutual willingness.

Keep some room for ordinary happiness. We can support each other through tears and still make time for laughter, food, and an entirely unnecessary photograph of lunch. A friendship deserves a life beyond managing difficulties.

These are reminders for me too. I cannot ask a new friend to fit neatly into my life while being unwilling to move anything around myself. Equally, I do not have to abandon what matters to me to earn a place in theirs.

The tiny adjustments Rupali and I have made feel significant for precisely this reason: both of us have been part of making them.

We want closeness. Can we give it our attention?

Sometimes I wonder whether our habit of scrolling has followed us into our relationships.

A conversation gets uncomfortable. We want to move on.A reply takes longer than expected. Our minds begin writing a story. Someone disappoints us. We start weighing the entire relationship against that one moment.

I recognise the temptation. Who would not prefer to be understood immediately, without having to explain, wait, or risk being misunderstood again?But people do not come with instant-delivery guarantees.

We can order dinner in a few taps. Understanding another human being takes a little longer. Occasionally, several conversations longer.If I want someone to know me beyond my easy, cheerful, agreeable moments, I have to make room to know them beyond theirs too.

Different does not have to mean distant

My bond with Rupali reminds me that affection does not require identical opinions or identical approaches to life.

My love of planning does not disappear because I care about someone more spontaneous. Her independence does not have to disappear because long-term connections matter to me. The work lies in understanding what sits beneath those differences and finding adjustments both of us can make willingly.

We can disagree and still enjoy each other’s company. I can care about her without expecting her to respond to everything as I would. That sounds simple. Practicing it is another matter.

When we care deeply, our preferences can quietly turn into expectations. “This is how I show love” can become “This is how you should show it too.” I am learning to notice that shift.

There is room to express what we need. There also needs to be room for the other person to have a different temperament, pace, and way of expressing care. Otherwise, we end up asking for closeness while leaving very little room for the actual person.

An honest conversation needs an honest listener

We are mostly open in our communication. “Mostly” is an honest word. There have been communication issues too, and I would rather acknowledge them than write a polished version of our friendship in which we always know exactly what to say.

Tears do not always come with an explanation. Silence can be difficult to understand. Even nonstop chatter does not guarantee that the important thing has been said.Openness asks something of the listener too.

Can I hear that something I said hurt her without immediately explaining why I meant well? Can I say, “That upset me,” without turning it into a list of everything she has ever done wrong? Can we ask, “What did you mean?” before deciding we already know?

There is a world of difference between wanting to understand someone and waiting for our turn to defend ourselves.I will not pretend I always get this right. Caring deeply does not automatically make us skilled communicators. Sometimes it simply gives us more feelings to communicate.

But a conversation can become gentler when both people feel they will get a fair hearing.

Give the small repair a chance

A good bond can have an awkward afternoon. A poorly chosen word. An assumption. A conversation that ends badly because someone is tired. If every uncomfortable moment becomes a final verdict, how does trust ever get time to deepen?

Sometimes the next step is a small sentence:

“I think that came out wrong.”

“Can we talk about what happened?”

“I understand your point better now.”

These sentences can feel harder than silence. They ask us to loosen our grip on being right and admit that the connection matters.

Of course, patience needs to be mutual. Repeated disrespect cannot be repaired by one person becoming endlessly accommodating. Both people need room to speak, take responsibility, and feel cared for.

Within that mutual care, though, surely, we can allow each other the occasional imperfect day.
Ordinary care deserves to be noticed.

When I think about what has made this bond meaningful, I think of walks, ten-minute calls that became an hour, photographs exchanged across cities, and rajma chawal.

A picture of an ordinary meal can carry a small invitation: here is a piece of my day. You are part of it.
Her approach to eating and sharing food has influenced me too. It makes me think about the quiet ways people change us through everyday example. Ordinary things. Yet they stay with me. Perhaps we overlook too much while waiting for grand gestures.

Someone remembers what we like. Makes time for a walk. Listens to something we have been carrying. Sends a message because we crossed their mind. We strengthen a bond when we notice those things—and say so.

“That meant a lot to me.”

“I enjoyed our time together.”

“I appreciate that we could talk honestly.”

People should not have to guess whether their care reached us.

Space is part of closeness too

I care deeply about the people I love. That is part of who I am.I am also learning that care needs breathing room.

A slower reply does not tell the whole story of someone’s affection. A busy day does not erase a friendship. Neither person should have to prove the bond every few hours.

At the same time, giving space cannot mean leaving one person to do all the reaching out. There is comfort in knowing that, even when life gets busy, both people will make their way back to the conversation.

Perhaps that is something worth discussing openly: what helps each of us feel connected, and what amount of space helps us feel comfortable?

It is kinder than expecting someone to pass a test they did not know they were taking.
The tiny adjustments are part of the story

Over the past year, both of us have made small changes for each other. I find that more meaningful than any claim that we have a perfectly effortless bond.

It is easy to announce that someone matters. Making room for them in our habits takes practice. It means noticing where we repeatedly misunderstand each other, saying what would help, and being willing to try something a little differently.

An adjustment made willingly by both people can become a way of saying: I see you. Your comfort matters alongside mine.

We can help such bonds by giving a call our full attention, asking before assuming, appreciating the effort we notice, and returning to an unfinished conversation when we are ready to hear each other. Small things, repeated, give affection somewhere to live.

Some things are worth growing slowly

My friendship with Rupali is still teaching me.

About affection and individuality. About speaking honestly and listening with a little less defensiveness. About enjoying what we share without trying to remove every difference.

I do not want to measure a meaningful bond only by how effortlessly it makes me smile. I want to notice how we treat each other when understanding takes effort.

Do we remain curious? Can we apologise? Is there care coming from both sides? Do we make time for joy as well as difficult conversations?

Sometimes it feels as though we want instant closeness, instant understanding, and an instant exit when becomes difficult, just like Maggi 2 minutes :). I wonder how many worthwhile connections could grow if we gave them a little more time before deciding what they can become.

I believe in long term. Rupali says she does not. I cannot write the future for either of us. But I can appreciate what we have built over this past year and the small choices we have both made to care for it.
In a world that makes moving on so easy, I want to remember the value of tending to something good.
A little more attention. A little less assumption. Appreciation spoken aloud. A conversation given enough time to finish.

I went to yoga to learn how to slow down. Perhaps some of that learning was always going to happen beyond the mat.