"Every time something like this (situation regarding a work deadline) happens, I look back and check my surname. 'West', is that my second name yet?
No, it's not.
It's 'Malik'.
Then I go back to being myself and re-consider my decision (about launch date of project)."

My friend, who goes by his second name, Malik, aka Mr Malik is moving cities. Although, I did keep the sentiment in mind, he brought up how I didn't write anything about him and yet "tagged" him in a post saying he's leaving and the works.

Look out for Mr Malik's new projects, all lined up to release real soon. I'm not sure if I can talk about them, but I can talk about Mr Malik himself, who happens to be an old friend. As old as when I was 17 and cocky and ever so hyper. Despite his belief that I hated him when I first met him- a myth propagated by Mr Malik himself, I count him as a friend who has my back regardless of where I am and what stupidity I've indulged in. I'd like to think he feels the same since he's participated in eating not once, but twice over vegetarian food when all that we ever discuss is meat.

He and I have come a long way, charting conversations about biryani on different technologies, say from BBM to Telegram, to him promising to be a witness at my wedding whenever it happens, if at all it happens. Mr Malik has fed my unhealthy Diet Coke obsession and been ever so kind so let me fail a work deadline. Let's not forget the time, he allowed me to drive his car, when my own parents did not and I rammed it in the society gates at Westend. The guards promised to never allow Mr Malik's car in, and yet, only last week he offered to let me drive his car again.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is true friendship.

Now that Bombay's taking this friend away, I have a vacancy open in my life. To fill the big Yeezy's that Mr Malik would potentially wear and show up fashionably late. Although, credit where credit is due, from reaching a gig five hours late to only running late for ten minutes, that's a real leap into adulthood.

However, I'm pretty fucking sure, the spot is going to be vacant unless I move to Bombay or Mr Malik decides to move back sometime in the future.

Keeping this one real short. If I know anything about Mr Malik, he doesn't like to mull over words. Short and sweet, just like the last book he read on Soka Buddhism because, you know, it was short.

Delhi's going to be less than cool in your absence, Mr Malik.