I
Dreams break into pieces with the most annoying sound coming from a far away world. I struggle to open my eyes. Eyes are half open and still groggy with sleep I try to locate the source of the sound that gives a shock. A shock, which marks the beginning of a hectic day. Now with eyes closed again one of my paws stumble on the device and turn off the wake up call. Soon as the sensors carry the message, my eyes are now wide open. I pick up the device lying beside the pillow, wake up to realize I am 10 minutes late to start the day. Sitting up, I look at the device once again. Is there a call I missed while ‘dreaming’ or a message that needs to be attended? Is there a mail waiting to be opened in the inbox? Taking stock of the hours spent sleeping, I get ready to conquer the day, a new one, like a daily-wage earner. I clutch the device tight. The device, my closest companion in life: a Smart Phone.
II
The boy in white uniform, holding the books and the notes close to his chest, walks past the bridge over the lake. Smelling the chapa flower, listening to the chirping birds retiring to their nests, surrounded by the soothing greenery, ignoring the sound of ping pong from the common room and the clinking of the utensils towards the dining room, he unlocks the door. He goes straight to the window and looks up through it. Is there any activity on the corner of the second floor balcony? Not yet, confirms his roommate. This time the boy straightens himself on the bed, lying on his chest facing the window, gazing at the third floor. Yes, after a while, the Brother walks in the frame. The Brother carries a bunch of yellow and greenish blue stuff and puts them into a wooden box. The boy and his friends run up to find if they are the lucky prize winner of the day. If luck favours, the joyous face flaunts the prize from the second floor. The handwriting on top of it tells him all. He has the most precious possession of the day, the fresh air from home: a letter. The boy goes through every word at a go. Reads it again and again. The lines bring silent smiles or tearful eyes. At the end it brings an untold joy. Before dusk as daylight fades, the boy takes a shower, wraps around the white dhoti and uttorio, moves toward the prayer hall. It was time to press the refresh button. Serenity engulfs him. Blurred alleys come clearer. Heart is sunk in purity. Recharged he makes a move towards study.
III
There is no permanent address for me anymore. The roots have weakened. I roam, I move and I live in a virtual world, a world shared by millions of people, yet is full of solitude. I don’t write anymore, I type. I talk less nowadays, I type more. I hold the world at my fingertips. News, good and bad, creeps in by every second. Once in a while messages pop out of the box coming from the distant world. They are not elaborate but crisp and short. I am privileged to have two windows that keep me asking ‘what’s happening?’ and ‘what’s on your mind?’ I converse with them. Don’t think I don’t know you anymore. I peep through the windows of my small and cozy world at the corner of the globe and stare at you like a voyeur. We have forgotten to write to each other, but I know every movement you make, every person you have in your life, every thought you share with the world. I have seen you grow. I know you have forgotten every curve of the letters that used to fill up pages. Electronic waves have engulfed us all.
IV
3:30 am
“….Just finished writing the projects for tomorrow. It is still dark outside. But I am waiting for the magic light as the day dawns. It looks beautiful to see the blinking bulbs of the factory at the foothill will fade away soon and the mystic hills will unfold before my eyes as I look through the windows. This place is cool. I have been writing this letter for last seven days. I think I must post it today as I go downtown during the recess. Do I have the postal stamps? Let me check. Yes I have them. Then I can tell Basant bhai to drop it at the post box when he goes out for lunch….”
The bunch of letters chronicled the life we spent then. It told about the emotional battles we fought in life. It recorded the differences of opinion we had in our mind. It exchanged simple news that we reached safe and we are doing well. The nostalgia over the bluish green inland letters which initially seemed a lot of space to write on, but turned out to be too small to write the concluding lines, the yellowish envelop which sometimes could not hold the thickly bended papers full of my thoughts, the blue and red aerogram for the pen-pals (archaic) still haunts me. Queuing up before the small counter and weighing the envelope to buy the exact amount of postage stamp to be pasted was exciting. Uncertain if the letter will reach on time or will land in the right hands was always a question but that ‘wait’ at the end of it gave an emotional pleasure. Then we all cursed Indian Postal Department but they were the only courier company available at that time and almost forgotten now!
V
The big world has shrunk and now fits into our palms, but I still miss the personal touch that’s been left behind somewhere.
(Published in Arghya, the magazine of Mahavidyalaya Praktani of RKM Residential College, Narendrapur, in 2011 issue)
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