IF HE IS LYING, HE IS NOT A FRIEND
- Madhukar Dama
- 3 days ago
- 8 min read
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1. FRIENDSHIP IS BUILT ON TRUST, NOT PRESENCE
Just being there doesn’t make someone a friend.
Many people sit next to you while secretly lying to you.
Lying—whether with words, silences, or performances—destroys the foundation of friendship, even if everything else looks normal.
Because the core of friendship is simple:
“Can I rest around you without fear?”
If the answer is no, then it is not friendship—no matter how long you’ve known each other.
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2. EVOLUTION SELECTED FOR HONESTY IN SMALL GROUPS
In early human history, groups of 15–40 people lived closely.
They shared food, danger, and protection.
Survival depended on reliable communication and honest cooperation.
A person who lied or betrayed—stole food, misled others, or faked injury—was rejected or even killed.
Why?
Because dishonesty was not just offensive—it was deadly.
Over time, human brains evolved to punish betrayal and reward trust.
We still feel this today:
When someone lies to you, your body reacts.
Your gut tightens.
Your chest hurts.
Your sleep breaks.
Because your biology recognizes it as a threat.
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3. BIOLOGY OF FRIENDSHIP: WHAT YOUR BODY KNOWS
Friendship releases chemicals:
• Oxytocin (trust)
• Dopamine (pleasure)
• Serotonin (stability)
But lies increase:
• Cortisol (stress)
• Norepinephrine (alertness)
When someone lies to you, your body feels unsafe.
Even if your mind tries to justify it, your heart races, your muscles stiffen.
It’s not drama.
It’s evolution saying:
"This person is a risk."
"Don’t relax here."
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4. HISTORY ACROSS CULTURES AGREES: FRIENDSHIP DEMANDS TRUTH
• Ancient Greeks: Aristotle said friends must share “truth and virtue.”
• Confucian China: Friends correct each other, not flatter.
• India (Mahabharata): A friend speaks the truth, even if it burns.
• Islamic and Biblical texts: Truthfulness defines real companionship.
In no tradition is a liar called a friend.
Even foxes and tricksters in myths are cautionary tales—never role models for friendship.
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5. SOCIAL FUNCTION OF FRIENDSHIP: PSYCHOLOGICAL SAFETY
In today’s world, we don’t rely on friends to protect us from tigers.
But we do rely on them for emotional survival.
A true friend is someone with whom you can:
• Cry honestly
• Admit failure
• Be silly without shame
• Receive truth without fear
Lies destroy this.
Because when a friend lies, you begin to wonder:
“What else is fake?”
And that question ruins everything.
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6. ALL LIES ARE NOT EQUAL, BUT ALL LIES ARE WOUNDS
Let’s classify lies:
Even “small” lies are like termites.
They don’t scream.
They hollow the structure from inside.
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7. IF HE LIES, WHAT IS HE REALLY DOING?
He is:
• Protecting his comfort, not your pain
• Choosing control, not care
• Treating your trust as a tool, not a gift
• Creating a performance, not a relationship
And when confronted, if he says:
"I didn’t want to hurt you."
He means:
"I didn’t want to deal with your strength."
"I didn’t want to be uncomfortable in front of you."
That’s not love. That’s fear using your name.
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8. WHAT FRIENDSHIP DEMANDS INSTEAD
A real friend will:
• Tell you the truth before it explodes
• Take accountability without defense
• Sit with your anger, not run away
• Apologize, not manipulate
• Say: “I should’ve told you earlier,” not “I didn’t want to ruin things”
Friendship doesn’t ask for perfection.
But it demands honest imperfection.
Even brutal honesty is more healing than polite betrayal.
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9. IN MODERN TIMES, FRIENDSHIP IS AT RISK
In a world of:
• Filtered images
• Half-truth updates
• “Haha just kidding” masks
• Empty likes
• Social contracts without emotional investment
Lying is normal.
Which means real friendship is rare.
If you find one friend who tells the truth—even when it’s hard—hold them.
And if someone keeps lying?
Walk away.
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10. CONCLUSION: FRIENDSHIP IS BUILT ON TRUTH, NOT HISTORY
Length of time means nothing.
If someone lies, even after knowing who you are,
what you’ve been through,
and what you deserve—
then they are not your friend.
Not because you are angry.
But because you are finally healthy enough to say:
“I want peace. Not performance.”
“I want truth. Not temporary comfort.”
The truest form of love between friends is this:
“I trust you enough to tell you the truth. Even if it shakes us.”
Without that,
it’s not friendship.
It’s fear wearing a smile.
---
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HEALING DIALOGUE:
"She Lied, But I Called It Love"
A conversation between Madhukar and a woman who is waking up from lifelong betrayal
Setting:
A quiet afternoon outside Madhukar’s off-grid forest home near Yelmadagi.
The birds are busy, the trees are still.
A woman sits on the stone step, her saree dusty from travel.
Her name is Sundari, aged 51, from Dharwad.
She looks worn, not just by age—but by realisation.
Madhukar brings her warm water with tulsi leaves.
Sundari (softly):
I never thought I would come to someone like you.
Forest. Silence.
I used to laugh at this kind of thing.
But now…
My head feels like a locked house.
I want to open it.
Madhukar:
You are welcome.
When the world lies to you, the forest becomes your mirror.
Tell me.
Sundari:
Her name is Radha.
We’ve been friends since school.
At least, that’s what I believed.
She was with me through college, my marriage, my children… even my husband’s death.
But now I realise—
She was never really with me.
She was around me.
She lied. A lot.
About everything.
But I kept forgiving.
I thought: "She’s just insecure."
Or, "She means well."
Or, "She doesn’t want to hurt me."
But now, I’ve stopped making excuses.
And it’s hurting more than the lies ever did.
Madhukar:
What was the last lie?
Sundari:
She told people I was using her.
That I had nowhere else to go.
That I call her only when I’m broken.
But it was she who used to call me crying.
I gave her my time, my food, my heart.
She took it all.
And then twisted it.
Still…
I miss her.
Madhukar:
Because you weren’t just missing her.
You were missing the part of yourself that only came alive when you were with her.
You gave her power to define your worth.
She lied.
But the deeper wound is that you built your truth on her words.
Sundari (tears up):
She knew everything.
I told her things I didn’t even tell my husband.
And now… I feel naked.
Ashamed.
Like I handed my soul to a person who was collecting souls.
Madhukar:
That shame is not yours.
It belongs to the illusion.
She didn’t receive your soul—she only performed understanding.
The one who accepts your truth without turning it into power—that is a friend.
Not the one who listens just to hold it over you later.
Sundari:
But why did I stay so long?
Madhukar:
Because lies feel better than loneliness—until they don’t.
Because you believed being tolerated was better than being alone.
Because society praises long friendships, not real ones.
Because nobody told you:
If she lies, she is not your friend.
Sundari:
I feel betrayed by myself.
I should’ve known.
People warned me.
Madhukar:
You knew.
Your body knew.
But you silenced it with loyalty.
Because you were raised to think that breaking a bond is worse than breaking yourself.
Now, you're learning to choose truth over tradition.
That’s not betrayal.
That’s healing.
Sundari:
What do I do now?
I feel blank.
Empty.
I don’t want revenge.
I just want peace.
Madhukar (smiles):
Then do nothing.
Don’t write. Don’t explain. Don’t warn others.
Just walk away.
Let truth be your closure.
Let silence become your protection.
And slowly—
Feed yourself what she never gave you.
Honest reflection.
Non-judging company.
Real safety.
Sundari:
How do I trust again?
Madhukar:
Start by trusting your own discomfort.
Your body’s unease was your first friend.
Learn its language again.
And then, when someone new comes—
don’t test them with secrets.
Test them with silence.
With honesty.
With boundaries.
See how they behave when you say "no."
That’s where friendship begins—not in yes, but in respect.
Sundari:
I feel lighter.
Still sad. But not drowning.
Madhukar:
That’s grief leaving through honesty.
Tears are not weakness.
They are memory’s last washing.
From today—
Don’t chase old definitions.
Don’t be loyal to what lied to you.
Be loyal only to what heals you.
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SHE LIED, BUT I CALLED IT LOVE
she said,
"I'm your friend."
and I believed her
like a dog believes the hand that feeds
without checking if the food is laced.
she lied
like it was prayer,
polished,
gentle,
smelling of rose water and habit.
not a lie like thunder,
but like the gentle drip in the bathroom
that rots the pipe over twenty years.
she said,
"I'm here for you."
but what she meant was
"I'm here for your secrets,
your softness,
your shame,
your silence."
and I—
I kept calling her
my shadow,
my soul twin,
my sister.
I never noticed
she was also the leaking roof
under which my life kept catching cold.
they told me,
“If she lies, she is not your friend.”
and I said,
“But she cries with me.”
they said,
“Crying is not honesty.”
and I said,
“But she knows me.”
they said,
“Knowing is not caring.”
and I said,
“But she stays.”
and they said,
“Even parasites stay.”
and when the final lie came
not with fire
but with the hiss of steam
escaping a pressure cooker
I never meant to seal—
I broke.
I didn't scream.
I just sat with my own damn silence.
like a dog who returns to an empty bowl
and finally realises—
there was never any food.
Madhukar said,
“She didn’t love you.
She performed it.
There’s a difference.”
he said,
“She used your truth
as raw material
to make her image
look like loyalty.”
he said,
“Walk away.
No speech.
No text.
No closure.
Just walk.
Let the forest teach you
what false comfort never could.”
so I walked.
and behind me
the ghosts of fake friendships
dissolved like salt in rain.
and in front of me,
nothing.
just a mirror made of silence.
it didn’t show her.
it showed me.
and now,
when someone says:
"I’m your friend."
I don’t smile.
I wait.
I watch.
I ask:
“Do you lie to protect me, or to control me?”
“Do you want my truth, or my obedience?”
“Will you stay when I say no?”
a friend,
a real one,
tells you when you stink.
tells you when you’re sinking.
tells you
you’re beautiful,
but also foolish.
a real friend doesn’t perform love.
they practice it.
and so,
let me say it now
for every woman who handed her diary
to someone who only wanted ink—
if she lies, she is not your friend.
not even if she sings like a river
and cries like a saint.
because the truth is
a sharp blade,
but it cuts open the right wound.
lies are butter
until you discover
they were always just poison in yellow.
so no,
you’re not bitter.
you’re not dramatic.
you’re not weak.
you’re just finally done
being the field
that grew someone else’s lies.
[end.]
