It is 1987
I cry and cry, rolling inside the cradle
My father understands that I want to communicate
He peeps in and offers me a tiny smile
Slowly, he leans forward and whispers something
I pause my crying
I understand his love though not his language
He had understood my want though not my language
I stare at him blankly for a few seconds before smiling
He whispers something again, and I begin laughing
We continue our conversation for sometime
Language is left languishing over the bedroom attic...
It is 1998
I hold his letter in my hands and I can feel his wrinkles
The paper is stiff yet the written words start trembling
The ink soaked in the paper competes with the warmth soaked in my heart
I smile looking at the two dots at the end of each sentence
"I never like using periods in my letters to you" my grandfather would say
"Why not use commas or semicolons?" I would retort
"Life needs those tiny pauses" he would explain
No wonder he loves the French and Italian films
He also loves Tom Clancy and Robin Cook
Which shows itself in his writing
Every paragraph leads to a breathtaking revelation
I love the smell of the words - the Parachute hair oil dripped words
And the smell of the wooden table that the letter had rested upon
I often get scolded by my school teachers
For using a black ink pen for the entire answer sheet in examinations
"Black ink is only for highlighting important words" they say
I refuse to change to blue ink
At least till my grandfather does...
It is 2007
I am on a phone call and my mother is on the other side
The eardrums reach beyond the reception levels
The brainwaves strengthen the weak network signals
My mother always speaks softly
Like how courage whispers to a bird on the brink of its maiden flight
Like how passion whispers to a man lost in a mundane existence
Like how childhood whispers to a mother arranging her daughter's scattered toys
But her silences are my precious treasures
They reach me sooner than language
They describe me her crowded train ride, her spicy lunch
And the half kilo carrots that had accompanied her home
"Then?" she would always ask
I would want to share the million happenings I had hidden from her
Inside my maturity locker
A broken tooth had been a three-day headline 15 years back
And a broken heart seems an unnecessary triviality now
"Then?" she would always ask
"Nothing more" I would reply and wait for my mother to end the call
Her silences are my precious treasures...
It is 2017
The WhatsApp icon lights up my dark mobile screen and my heart
185 seconds had elapsed since my previous text message
What would she have replied?
I spend another 185 seconds creating a list of possible replies
Another 185 seconds in affirming that she would have sent the most ideal reply
Another 185 seconds in fear that she would have sent the worst reply
There is a pleasure in these anticipations
Pleasure that delays clicking a button and ending the mystery in a second
Pleasure like when you have added the single missing semicolon in a 500 line code
And happily wait with a God's pride before executing it
Pleasure like when you chance upon a lovely sight
And cherish it before pulling out the camera
I believe I love texting her
More for my anticipations than for her replies
The unopened message where I love the idea of her
And the opened message where I love her...
It is 2027
I stand at my balcony, in my Indian flat
My partner is resting on his couch, in his Spanish home
My thoughts pause themselves as his come flooding to me
Each of his thoughts begin to get mapped to their rightful node in my network
My network expands like a floating jellyfish
As our thoughts come together, I see the big picture and also the solution
"This is great" my partner thinks
"I thought so too" I respond
No common server platform, no whiteboards, no discussions
A faulty algorithm has been debugged and solved with just our thoughts
Happily, I rub the tiny circular device attached below my ear lobe
The thousand thought networks inside my head glow in a gentle light
"I wish you guys were with me in Paris" My sister's thought reaches me
"She's lying! She's totally enjoying her vacation there" my brother's thought rushes in, bumping her thought
"Why should we be there? I am enjoying Paris as much as you" I respond,
Letting my sister's Paris-thought network in my head lighten up
"Still..." she lets float an unfinished thought
Thoughts of love and family begin to race forward and recede like waves
I pull out the circular device from below my ear
And begin talking to myself
A strange new world this is
Communication happening through thoughts and introspection happening through words...
