www.electronicencounters.com

He was relieved. Glad, even. They were finally going to leave. His mom was finally ready to attend the party, and dad had already been honking for the past five minutes. He’d now have the house to himself, for at least five hours. He had always loved being alone, away from the crowd, and sometimes far, far away from his parents too. He was never too much of a sportsperson; he preferred activities that stimulated the intellect. While other sixteen year olds would’ve spent such home-alone nights partying with their friends, probably even drinking, Rustom would read, or play his viola (if only he had a penny each time people called it the violin!). He was mature beyond his years (or so, everyone said, but that was possibly because they had never considered the possibility of other sixteen year olds not being as mature as they should be!), and a loner. Not surprisingly, he had plenty of friends online. Lonely people make the best chat room friends. He was especially excited tonight. He couldn’t wait to check out the newest site he had read about in a journal. It asked you for your hobbies, your likes and dislikes; and connected you to someone with the same interests, and let you both chat. The only condition was that you weren’t allowed to upload your images. And you’d never be connected to the same person again. The site ensured that.

The element of mystery appealed to him, and he felt particularly excited as he put his headphones on.  It was a gamble, he thought to himself, and he loved taking chances. He typed in the url, and was very soon filling in his name, and his hobbies- surfing the net, reading, art. That was about it. Oh, and yes, watching movies. He waited with bated breath as the site found him a suitable ‘friend’.  He secretly hoped it would be a boy, so that he could have an interesting conversation about fighter planes and Star Wars. What did girls know about such stuff anyways?

Too bad when within two minutes (thank God it didn’t take longer- he was getting rather impatient!), he heard a slight rustle on his headsets, it was a rather mature sounding female voice (the internet sometimes did that to your voice).

“Hi!” the girl said softly, almost whispering.

“Hello, Rustom here”, he replied quickly.

“Hi Rustom, I’m Alisha.”

“Alisha? That’s a rather pretty name! So tell me Alisha, what do you like doing?”

“Oh, plenty of things! But I’m not allowed to do most of them! You know, I recently fractured my hip!  So I’m confined to the bed, doing nothing much, except surf the net, watch television, and paint a little. Even that has gotten so difficult these days. So I’ve started reading- a lot. I’ve always been a big reader, but now that love has strengthened! And I have my blog. I write in it, a lot”

“Oh, that could get kind of sad, I understand! But if you look at the brighter side, you’d realize that you have plenty of time to spend with your family! How cool is that?” Ha-ha, look who’s talking about family time, thought Rustom! He barely knew his parents. As in, the kind of people they were. He did not know.

Alisha chuckled. But he sensed a tinge of sadness in her laughter and her voice, as she said, “Barely anyone at home has time for me. Nobody like spending quality time with an invalid, you know! The conversations are mainly limited to them ordering me around, telling me what to do and what not to do. Sometimes, to be honest with you, Rustom, I feel like running away from home... to just break free!”

“Wow!” remarked Rustom to himself. He did feel bad for Alisha, but he was relieved, glad even, that there was at least one more lonely person in the world. He tried to recollect the number of times he himself had contemplated running away from home.  “Forget them’, he continued chatting with Alisha, “and tell me what kind of movies do you like to watch? Romcoms?”

“Haha no! I’m sorry, Rustom, I’m more into the “Star Wars” series!”

“Really? It is rather unusual to find a girl who likes “Star Wars”. And what kind of books do you like to read?”

The conversation went on for more than an hour. The spoke about many things- Billy Joel, their painting styles (both of them pursued painting as a hobby, but they both admitted they kind of sucked at it! In fact, his mother had called his latest masterpiece ‘Squiggles’), their mutual dislike of Harry Potter, and their fascination for Frank Sinatra. They had a little quiz in which they asked each other the toughest questions about Sinatra. Alisha won (‘but very narrowly’, Rustom consoled himself). “The most brilliant hour of my life”, Rustom thought to himself later on.

They then recited dialogues from Star Wars, and they laughed themselves silly as the discussed the antics of Tom and Jerry (you can never be too old for cartoons).  He expressed his disappointment in finding out that her favourite cartoon was the Powerpuff Girls simply because it was a display of flower power! They had a very philosophical interaction about the hidden meanings in Lewis Carol’s humorous writings. And they finished off with a debate about whether Macbeth was Shakespeare’s best work, or was it Julius Caesar.

When they had both gone offline, Rustom was a happy young man. He wished the world had more sensible people like Alisha. He also wished that he could talk to her again. But he did not have her phone number. He did not know why he did not ask for it. Neither of them had brought it up, and so neither of them had asked for the other’s contact details. Perhaps this is how it was meant to be. Perhaps if their friendship had gone beyond that day, they’d realize they did not really like each other as much as they thought they did on the first day. Alisha was an extremely wonderful girl, and it was probably best to remember this evening in the sweetest possible way, without further conversation to spoil it. Rustom switched off the lights and went to sleep, hoping to have a memorable dream about his encounter with Alisha.

Miles away, in another continent altogether, Alisha nursed her broken hip. A fracture at the age of fifty three was very difficult to handle. Especially since she had lost her husband, her pillar of strength of thirty years, in the same accident six months back. The mishap had completely broken her, and she thought she’d never be happy again. So she had decided to completely drown her grief in caring for her infant granddaughter- the only beacon of light in her otherwise dark world. She had forgotten how to smile; her tears did not stop flowing.

Until tonight, that is. It seemed like aeons ago that she had seen on her face the creases that accompanied a smile. This ‘www.electronicencounters.com’ was an amazing site, and this man Rustom was an absolute sweetheart. How old was he? Forty, forty five? Younger than her for sure, but he had managed to bring back that spark back into her life that had been consumed in the flames that had engulfed her husband’s pyre. Silly, it may sound, but in this one hour she had connected with him in a way she had not connected to in a very long time.

She felt rejuvenated. She thought she’d write about this man in her blog. And title it, ‘www.electronicencounters.com’!

My best Friend

We sat in my room, enveloped in the aroma that emanated from our mugs of steaming hot green tea, doing some catching up. Our dose of heart to heart conversations was over six months overdue. I was home for a day, and I was afraid the hours were just not long enough. True, we spoke over the phone everyday; I pinged her by the hour, and sent her close to fifty text messages a day. But none of those could provide me the warmth of her touch as she held my hand, and as long as I just called, texted, or pinged her, my daily migraine pestered me, for she couldn’t massage my head over the phone or the computer. So, while we knew of each other’s experiences, we had not dissected them. As we discussed my brother’s apathy towards his upcoming exams, her latest adventure in the kitchen, my latest project and my boyfriend troubles, I leaned back into my bed and wondered, “She was always my mother, but when did she become my best friend?”

As far back as I can recollect mom has been the first one I had run to with every tear, and every joy. When I first hit a guy in school and when the same guy asked me out a couple of years later, my mom had been my confidant; my friend, philosopher and guide in the true sense of the term. When I first broke a tooth and when I made a new friend, she has always been there for me. Whether it was to teach by example, or to silently support be from behind the stage, mom has never judged me; she let me set my own expectations. She was proud of me when I surpassed those, and encourage me to improve when I fell short. She is the best listener I know and a mind reader too. She instinctively knew when I was asking her for advice, and when I just needed her shoulder to cry on. She multiplied my joys with her enthusiasm, and divided my frustrations with her empathy and good advice.

Yet, for many years, to me, she was just ‘mom’. Back in my school days, when she picked me up everyday, she asked my how my day was.  I remember asking about her day once. I was surprised by the amount she had to say. We rarely had late night conversations (I slept early), and our days were very busy, but those precious forty five minutes every morning  when I got ready for school, were spent chatting about every topic under the sun. We slowly found the time to fill each others’ ears with stories, and our hearts with love. We shared our experiences and hopes, our frustrations and fears. When I heard that she had stumbled at the same blocks when she was my age I became stronger; when I learnt of her romance with dad, I was no longer scared to tell her about my latest love. She never made my opinion seem inconsequential, and my ideas were ‘difficult to implement’, but never impossible. She had immense confidence in her daughter, and her goodnight kisses always came with the message that tomorrow was a brand new day, a day to revel in.

And so when she had her hysterectomy, I told her it was okay, she’d be fine; just like she had calmed me down every time I went through PMS.  When grandma passed away, it was from mom’s lessons to me that I found the wisdom to let her cry. She always told me, tears were not a sign of weakness, they were a stress buster.

It was then that I realised, she had always been my best friend. She had given me her heart in its entirety, right from day one. It was her soul that she divulged to me in instalments, as and when she realized I was ready.

As I sat across her, looking jot down the recipe for my favourite chicken dish so that I’d never miss it when I was alone, I couldn't help wondering what she felt. Was I her best friend too? I was looking at the woman who had given me life and then shared hers with me. It was time for me to get going if I wanted to get beck to college on time.  Our mugs were by now empty, but our hearts were filled with a kind of warmth I never knew existed. We both knew that by tomorrow she’d be busy being the perfect wife to dad, and the perfect mother to my brother. I’d be immersed in my project, and if I had some time in the evening, I’d go for a party at a friend’s. Yet, we’d both be growing and learning – about life, about the world, and most importantly about each other. Our relationship was like the chicken in the marinade of the recipe she’d given me- the longer it soaked, the better it tasted!

She still believes what his eyes say....

He could make her deliriously happy, or uncontrollably angry, quicker than anyone she’d ever known. When he looked at her, everything else disappeared, and he became her whole universe. She could not help but smile. His eyes were just perfect- kind and assertive, knowing and doubtful, playful and sensitive- all at once.  It was paradoxical. Just like their relationship.  They made her laugh when she was low, forgiving when she was angry, and believing even when she knew he was lying. Those eyes were more than enough to make her fall head over heels in love with him- and that was something she had always tried to steer clear of.

They had hit it off on the wrong note. Her first memory of him was an awkward encounter in a party thrown by a common friend. She found his silence intimidating, yet when she felt his eyes on her- even on that first day, she had felt beautiful, inside out. He looked like a cold sort of person, the kind she had never planned on falling for. But as their friendship deepened, when she found herself slipping, she realized, when has Fate ever been kind enough to let you follow your plans?

He was the first guy she ever really loved. She was surprised too. He was just the opposite of what she had wanted from life.  Yet when he held her, her head resting on his shoulder, she knew he could hear her deepest, darkest thoughts. She had always been talkative- she’d needed plenty of words to convey her thoughts to the world, yet she did not call it a miracle when she felt him read everything she had ever wanted to tell him, in the silence that often enveloped them when they were together. She called it love. When he spoke, it was mostly to tell her that she was never the kind of woman he thought he would settle for either, to tell her that despite that, he loved her and only her. She knew he was lying for she felt somebody else in his heartbeat, in every throb of his pulse; but those eyes – they always made her trust him.

From the time he first held her hand, he dominated her thoughts. She tried hard to focus on college, on her painting, on her family, and even on a God she never believed in, but with each passing day she felt weaker and weaker. She felt reckless, afraid and excited. Her days began with the thought of meeting him, the afternoons she spent with him became evenings before she’d even realized it, and her nights were spent texting him. When she met him the next day, she often had dark circles, but he made her feel beautiful. Every time he looked at her with those eyes.

Her instincts were at loggerheads with each other. “Trust him”. “Trusting him will easily be your biggest blunder”. “Reach out for his hand”. “Be at peace with returning the pressure when he squeezes your fingers”. “Ask him about her; find out if he still loves her”. “No, he’s totally into you now”!! She was confused. The love in his eyes overshadowed his lies; their warmth was more than the doubt in hers.

She occasionally saw the deception, the insecurity very clearly in his eyes. She was sure his loving words were for her, but she wondered if his heart was too. Like the rest of his emotions, she could never tell with surety how much was an act for her benefit, and how much he really felt for her. She stared into his jet black eyes and wondered if he knew how much control he had over her every sense, and if he knew how devastated she’d be when the break would ultimately happen.

Then one day, a fortnight later, it all came crashing down around her. As abruptly as he had walked into her life, he walked out. He was gone, and as she hurt alone, she wondered if he had ever really loved her, even for a moment; or if it was all a charade. She had so many questions for him, and so much to tell to him. But the alarm clock had gone off too soon, and now the dream was over, leaving her lonely and cold. All that she had, to remind her of the best fifteen days of her life were some text messages that she’d immediately deleted, and some notes he’d made for her homework. She tore it into pieces as her tears washed the ink out of those assignment sheets. She was too proud to dwell on those memories, to wait for him to come back. Her heart wanted to cry out, but her mind had decided to move on. In the end, that is what she did.

He taught her many lessons. Lessons on life, on love and on circumstances. She has finally made herself collect the fragments of those days, ensconce them in a special part of her heart, and live life like she ought to. She thinks of him less often. Yet, I’m sure her mind sometimes drifts back to her past, to the sweet dream of her first love. And at those times, she remembers his eyes... and she still believes what they say.