Will you be my friend?
In an age of division and self-interest, friendship may seem old-fashioned. But on World Friendship Day, this reflection reminds us why social bonds—once the lifeblood of our communities—must be rebuilt
Today is World Friendship Day—a day when the world celebrates human brotherhood, camaraderie among groups, harmonious relations between countries, and enduring bonds among nations. It is a time to recognise the significance of these relationships and to reaffirm our commitment to nurturing them on a solid foundation.
World Friendship Day reminds us of the power of friendship and how, through it, we can build a more peaceful and inclusive world. Fourteen years ago, in 2011, the United Nations declared 30 July as World Friendship Day, and since then, many countries have been observing it annually.
But how do we define friendship—on a personal level, between social groups, among nations? I recall a conversation from a few years ago, when some of us university friends were catching up at a coffee shop. The topic of friendship came up. One friend said that friendship means being able to tell your friend everything—no secrets, no censorship. Another remarked that true friendship is when, even after spending an entire day together, you feel like you haven't had enough—that you need to see and talk to that person again the next day. A third friend added that friendship means having a shoulder to lean on, and a hand you can trust to hold yours.
Then, an ever-argumentative friend challenged us: "You felt these things when you were teenagers or university students. But honestly, in the twilight of our lives, do we still feel the same way about each other?" As I listened, I became momentarily lost in thought. I remembered an old friend—someone I'd known for over 50 years, since our early university days. Back then, our conversations had no limits—no boundaries in terms of time or topic. We'd talk for hours, debating endlessly. We were passionate, idealistic, rebellious young men, full of dreams.
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Later, life caught up with us—work, families, responsibilities. We saw less of each other. Our conversations, when they happened, shifted from youthful idealism to the ups and downs of our professional lives, our children's education, and eventually our own health. I noticed the change.
With time, our rare conversations took yet another turn—towards the health of other friends, those who were unwell, and those we had lost. It felt like our lifelong friendship had come full circle, where death itself became a common topic. And then one day, I heard that my friend—who had stood beside me for over half a century—had passed away. Our conversations had truly ended.
I was snapped out of my thoughts when our philosophical friend, in the style of Chanakya, declared, "He who stands by you during festivals, famines, wars, courtrooms, and cremation grounds is your true friend." Perhaps. But I've always believed that the essence of friendship lies in shared moments—laughter, trust, companionship, warmth, and care.
In our society, there was once a time when friendship and solidarity ran deep. Families were close-knit, bound by affection and care. Even within extended families, these bonds stretched across generations. Of course, there were feuds and misunderstandings. But they rarely managed to tear apart the foundational fabric of love and care. In joy, in sorrow, and in danger, people would always return to their families. Families were society's first social safety net.
Traditionally, our social relations could be divided into two types: transactional and fraternal. While business relationships were driven by profit, fraternal ones were rooted in empathy and connection. Though people often talked about profit and loss, balance sheets and margins, it was always friendship and kindness that truly sustained society.
In villages, towns, and neighbourhoods, human bonds were strong. If someone was hungry, they could knock on any door and share a meal. If a young person misbehaved, any elder—regardless of relation—could correct them. During emergencies or disasters, the whole community would come together to help.
Acts of affection and care were everywhere. When we returned from school, tired and hungry, it was not always our mothers who fed us, but perhaps Rahimon Bua, our mother's loyal domestic help. If it rained heavily and we played in the downpour, it was Ashwini Kaka who held an umbrella over us, scolding us endlessly while getting soaked himself—even though he suffered from asthma.
During school exams, Nitai Mastermoshai, who lived nearby, tutored Palash in maths every evening—no one had asked him to. When Nazma Apa's mother fell seriously ill, neighbours sent food, took turns nursing her, and the local doctor uncle stayed by her bedside for three days, abandoning all other work. When our neighbour Sishir's sister, Kona Didi, got married, everyone in the community contributed—young and old alike. It was impossible to tell who was a real relative and who wasn't. These were relationships rooted in unconditional love and care.
Now, it seems transactional relationships have taken centre stage. Brotherhood and camaraderie have become secondary. We have grown more self-centred, building tight circles around ourselves, choosing only those people who serve our self-interest. We believe this gives us security and strength. In truth, it has left us divided and isolated. We've embraced conflict instead of friendship, violence instead of love, cruelty instead of compassion.
Globally, too, conflict and violence have cast a dark shadow. Civil wars rage within nations; invasions threaten peace across borders. One country commits atrocities in another. Millions are displaced from their homes. Mistrust has taken hold—countries now view each other as threats, not allies. The idea of global friendship and brotherhood feels like an empty slogan. World peace, increasingly, seems like a distant dream.
And yet—we hope. We still believe in humanity, in friendship, in compassion, in peace. So today, on World Friendship Day, we extend our hand to everyone, and simply ask:
Will you be my friend?
Dr Selim Jahan is the former Director of the Human Development Report Office (HDRO) of the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) in New York .
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.
