I loved her comments on my friend The Prophet's blog. There were words stolen from my brain, feelings straight from my own heart. I could see myself in those comments. Geez! You should have seen me frantically clicking the link to her own space in the blog world, a child opening a much awaited birthday present from its favourite (and rich) uncle. The page flowered slowly much to my impatience and I cursed the lethargy of my computer. A new blogger, I realise. Of course, otherwise I would have come across her before. I scan through her profile in a hurry, eager to dive deep in to her portal. She's from my city, enjoys the same movies and her favourite books have eight of my nine favourites (which doesn't surprise me at all). I click over to her blog. Just two posts on it. The first one almost significant (but not quite), something about having a cup of tea sitting by the window watching the rain, smelling the scent of rain caressing the land and I think I have read it somewhere, some forward I received years ago. The second post though were my unwritten thoughts, my philosophy of life in a nutshell. A 300 word nutshell. I have to post a comment, just have to, I decide. Needless to say I spent the next two hours, sculpting a comment that is bound to win me a friend. And just for good measure, I post another comment for the drinking-tea-in-the-rain post as well, this one less wordy, almost perfunctory. And I wait. Wait for a reply. Some reply. No, actually a reply which reflects the same feverish excitement that I feel. I checked my blog ten times that day (and hers too), waiting for a comment from a new friend. Three days I continued this routine. Then I post a comment on my comment and wonder aloud why there has been no reply. Or for that matter no new posts either. Must be busy with work, just give her a couple of days, I tell myself. A week passes by, still nothing. And the week became a month and I checked her blog less and less frequently. Still no comments and I am about to give up. Anger and disappointment flood my being. Why does it have to be like this?
And in a hospital bed (the same hospital I was born in, incidentally), slept the friend I never made, in a peacefully oblivious coma.
5 comments:
I can not help saying "It happens" (the coma part of it obviously not applicable). Isn't it rather uncanny that we'd love to see semblances of ourselves in the world? (Bah! that's almost a cry now!)
And, hey, why not publish your philosophy? I'd love to read it.
You have another comment now :-)
what can i say shashi! i have a frenzied imagination.
and no, i have no philosophy and no alter ego lying in bed in a coma.
that u have no philospohy is trash
hhhheee! trash, uh!
ok! let me put it this way, i have no philosophy that i can call my own. i just borrow bits n pieces from a whole lot of other ppl. and follow things when it suits me fine (and not follow the same when it doesn't). so, on the whole, i have no philosophy
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