While checking the flight information display at Auckland Airport, something struck me as rather odd.

There are only two flight statuses: “Relax” and “Departed.”

That’s it.

No “Boarding.” No “Proceed to Gate.” No “Final Call.” I stood there for a while just to make sure it wasn’t a coincidence. Nope. Those really are the only two statuses.

It is such a wonderfully Kiwi approach to air travel. The airport seems to be constantly reassuring you, “Relax… we got this… no need to rush…”

And then, one fine moment, it calmly informs you that your flight has already left.

It’s basically:

“Don’t panic.” … “Don’t panic.” … “Don’t panic.”

“…Okay. Now panic.”

Nats and I first met in 1991 when we joined the same company on the very same day. Soon afterward, we discovered that the company had assigned us apartments literally next door to each other, along with a few other new recruits.

Lifelong friendships came out of that arrangement, but I was especially close to Nats.

That was largely because of his sense of humor. His timing, his choice of words, and his deadpan delivery have always been impeccable. He also had an insatiable appetite for books. I honestly do not remember ever seeing him without one in his hand.

I still remember one evening when the Harshad Mehta scandal had just broken. I was trying to explain just how enormous the amount of money involved really was to Srini.

I proudly explained to Srini that if we started throwing away one rupee every second from the day we were born, and did nothing else for our entire lives, we would have to live for about 140 years just to get rid of all that money.

Nats, who was closely listening, was suitably impressed by both my math and the absurdity of the number.

He paused for a second and asked, “Then, why throw away a rupee every second? We’ll pick up a rupee every second!”

I have no recollection of what we were discussing after that. I was laughing too hard.

Today was no different.

A full twenty-five years after I had last met him in Tokyo, he greeted me with exactly the same warmth and mischievous humor.

“Blood Indian of low origin, how are you?”

I burst out laughing right there in the hotel lobby. Instantly, a flood of long-forgotten memories came rushing back.

“So, what’s interesting in life?” I asked, as we settled down for breakfast.

“Nothing much. Still working. Trying to put food on the table,” he replied with a perfectly straight face.

“Only sambar and rice, though.”, came the quick rejoinder from him!

The breakfast that followed was spent catching up on his family in India and Australia, his life in Japan and now Australia, and everything in between. Every few minutes, another perfectly timed remark would leave me laughing all over again.

Too soon, it was time for him to head to the office and for me to pack and make my way to the airport.

Some friendships are built on shared experiences. Ours seems to be built equally on shared laughter.

I am really going to miss my friend. We understand each other in a way that is increasingly rare for me. I only wish we did not have to live on opposite sides of the world.

It was a cold winter evening 13 years ago when I showed up very late to a party at Rupak’s house. That itself was a change of plans, thanks to a perfectly timed text message from the host enticing me with a glass of red wine.

That evening, I met Rupak’s sister, Rupa and brother-in-law, Swarup. A bit of digging into his past later, I discovered that Swarup was indeed a dear friend of my own brother from their engineering college days. What were the chances of that?

Sharmila and I have been to Australia a few times over the years. We have visited Sydney, Brisbane, Adelaide, Cairns, Uluru, and even Hobart. But we have never made it to Melbourne, where Rupa and Swarup live, or Perth, where my childhood best friend Avijit and his wife Rakhi live.

This time, Melbourne was part of my plans. Things, of course, did not go smoothly, thanks to the volcano in Vanuatu.

But thanks to the extra effort put in by Swarup and Rupa, we did manage to get together. Coincidentally… over some red wine!

What a wonderful evening it turned out to be. If you had overheard our conversations, you would have been forgiven for thinking that we meet a couple of times every week. Such was the ease and familiarity of the discussions.

The topics, admittedly, were age appropriate. You know, body parts that hurt for no apparent reason, our children’s careers, retirement plans, financial investments, and all the other exciting things that advanced age has to offer.

This is what makes those insanely long-haul flights so worthwhile, after all.