IT HAD BEEN ALMOST two years since she had known him. It had all begun that rainy evening when she had posted her first blog entry on the Internet after a bitter fight with her father. She was mad. Like a hurricane she had swept away from the room and onto the one place she knew she would be heard. The world of close knit strangers - Internet.
‘I don’t know what to write here…’ she had typed in like a lover trying to explain why she needs to break up with her partner. Her mother’s death had not been easy on her. She was twelve back then. She was twenty four now.
It was then that she had met him - Anonymous.
Anonymous had left a comment – ‘Don’t worry. It will come.’
She had smiled in response with a colon and a closing bracket - :)
And so it had begun. The two year long association. A relationship so platonic that at the end of it none of them could really define what it was they shared. They didn’t want to.
She was who she was. And he was Anonymous. Both single children with a troubled past.
She would religiously update the blog site. Filling it with detailed descriptions of her day. Her good, bad and ugly experiences at work and at home about her father who she was convinced never understood her.
Anonymous would plug in soothing words of comfort the following day. Explaining to her how hard it really was for children who lose one of their parents. A sibling can actually be a blessing in these times, he would say. He understood. He had been there too.
She was glad she had an ear she could relate with. What began as a spot to vent her frustration soon became an archive of questions and answers. It was like a modern day version of the Bhagavad Gita where she was the weary Arjuna and Anonymous was Lord Krishna. The all knowing omnipresent entity who gave her all the answers.
‘Don’t worry. It will come,’ he would often say without specifying what ‘it’ really was. She never asked.
He soon became her guide. Her mentor. Her philosopher. Her friend. A friend who did not demand. A friend who did not expect.
The connections she had never found with her own father were baring themselves with this stranger who had come from the unknown and was shaping her sanity back to meaning. The coherent strings of leading a life without regrets were being stitched into her life’s fabric.
And it was all because of him – Anonymous.
With time her blog became a private place. No one else was able to see it any more. Just the two of them knew where it was and what it was for. She began archiving the entries by date. She added new sections to her page like – ‘My Favorites’ which listed some of the best 'Anonymous responses' to her most troubled queries. She found peace in reading them.
‘Don’t you ever get tired of baby sitting me like this?’ she would ask like an innocent child at times.
‘No,’ he would write back ‘this interaction is a selfish cause for me. I am learning a lot from you as well. So in one way you are baby sitting me.’
They would exchange symbols that denoted laughter. One colon with two closing brackets - :))
Sometimes it would be the more popular – LOL - Laughing Out Loud.
As their relationship was about to complete two years her father got terminally sick. He had been suffering from heart disease and soon he was hospitalized. She spent a lot of time with him. They had never really bonded since her mother’s demise and it seemed that the prospect of death was the only reason anyone really bonded in the family.
A sad prospect.
Yet she continued updating her blog.
‘Sorry for not being here for so long,’ she would say explaining her situation.
Anonymous was probably occupied too since his entries suddenly stopped coming in. ‘Maybe he got tired after all,’ she said to herself.
She wept the day they had completed one week of no interaction. Silently. In the woman’s bathroom at the hospital.
‘He is gone,’ she said to herself ‘like everyone else in my life.’
She walked back to her ailing father’s side. The old man took his daughter’s hand and whispered ‘I am sorry. For everything.’
She smiled back not knowing how else to react to that.
‘This heart is a weird thing,’ he said. ‘It is giving up on me but I don’t want it do so yet. Not without spending some more time with my little one.’
She smiled again as her eyes got misty. ‘I am scared pa’, she said.
‘And I am sorry,’ the old man continued ‘…I have not responded since a week. They don’t have a computer here so it is hard. Don’t worry. It will come…’
..ShaKri..
© 2006-2007 Originally published as 'Anonymous Entries' / existing in pieces, Shashi Krishna
‘I don’t know what to write here…’ she had typed in like a lover trying to explain why she needs to break up with her partner. Her mother’s death had not been easy on her. She was twelve back then. She was twenty four now.
It was then that she had met him - Anonymous.
Anonymous had left a comment – ‘Don’t worry. It will come.’
She had smiled in response with a colon and a closing bracket - :)
And so it had begun. The two year long association. A relationship so platonic that at the end of it none of them could really define what it was they shared. They didn’t want to.
She was who she was. And he was Anonymous. Both single children with a troubled past.
She would religiously update the blog site. Filling it with detailed descriptions of her day. Her good, bad and ugly experiences at work and at home about her father who she was convinced never understood her.
Anonymous would plug in soothing words of comfort the following day. Explaining to her how hard it really was for children who lose one of their parents. A sibling can actually be a blessing in these times, he would say. He understood. He had been there too.
She was glad she had an ear she could relate with. What began as a spot to vent her frustration soon became an archive of questions and answers. It was like a modern day version of the Bhagavad Gita where she was the weary Arjuna and Anonymous was Lord Krishna. The all knowing omnipresent entity who gave her all the answers.
‘Don’t worry. It will come,’ he would often say without specifying what ‘it’ really was. She never asked.
He soon became her guide. Her mentor. Her philosopher. Her friend. A friend who did not demand. A friend who did not expect.
The connections she had never found with her own father were baring themselves with this stranger who had come from the unknown and was shaping her sanity back to meaning. The coherent strings of leading a life without regrets were being stitched into her life’s fabric.
And it was all because of him – Anonymous.
With time her blog became a private place. No one else was able to see it any more. Just the two of them knew where it was and what it was for. She began archiving the entries by date. She added new sections to her page like – ‘My Favorites’ which listed some of the best 'Anonymous responses' to her most troubled queries. She found peace in reading them.
‘Don’t you ever get tired of baby sitting me like this?’ she would ask like an innocent child at times.
‘No,’ he would write back ‘this interaction is a selfish cause for me. I am learning a lot from you as well. So in one way you are baby sitting me.’
They would exchange symbols that denoted laughter. One colon with two closing brackets - :))
Sometimes it would be the more popular – LOL - Laughing Out Loud.
As their relationship was about to complete two years her father got terminally sick. He had been suffering from heart disease and soon he was hospitalized. She spent a lot of time with him. They had never really bonded since her mother’s demise and it seemed that the prospect of death was the only reason anyone really bonded in the family.
A sad prospect.
Yet she continued updating her blog.
‘Sorry for not being here for so long,’ she would say explaining her situation.
Anonymous was probably occupied too since his entries suddenly stopped coming in. ‘Maybe he got tired after all,’ she said to herself.
She wept the day they had completed one week of no interaction. Silently. In the woman’s bathroom at the hospital.
‘He is gone,’ she said to herself ‘like everyone else in my life.’
She walked back to her ailing father’s side. The old man took his daughter’s hand and whispered ‘I am sorry. For everything.’
She smiled back not knowing how else to react to that.
‘This heart is a weird thing,’ he said. ‘It is giving up on me but I don’t want it do so yet. Not without spending some more time with my little one.’
She smiled again as her eyes got misty. ‘I am scared pa’, she said.
‘And I am sorry,’ the old man continued ‘…I have not responded since a week. They don’t have a computer here so it is hard. Don’t worry. It will come…’
..ShaKri..
© 2006-2007 Originally published as 'Anonymous Entries' / existing in pieces, Shashi Krishna
2 reflections:
Brilliant Shashi !
The climax is too good
Thank you, friend. Sorry for the super late response. :)
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