by Vivek Mehra
Marilyn and her ‘New Rules for the New World’ still haunted me and that is probably why I did not ask for a photograph. This time around Reshma startled me by asking me if I could send her one of me. I remember the thrill I experienced that day. A faceless ID was asking me to reveal myself with the promise that it would do the same.
I know I asked myself that day, ‘Why was I thrilled?’ The net was after all a place that protected its users, or so Marilyn had said. A place in which one should always remain anonymous, or so Marilyn had said. A world that should remain locked in the computer or so Marilyn had said.
By the time we next got online Reshma and I had exchanged pictures on the net. The day her picture arrived in the Inbox, I felt my heart thump, my head pound and my skin tingle. In a minute I was staring at the image on my computer screen. The woman in it looked not more than twenty-five, the man next to her not more than forty. It was taken in a garden, near a bed of flowers. I could not tell what was more beautiful, the scenery or the woman radiating amidst it.
I was not a bad looker either; I had done a couple of modeling assignments in my younger days. I did not believe I still looked that good now and then again I did not possess the eyes of the beholder. Reshma complimented me on my looks, and flirted a bit too. It was harmless and in good taste, but it did make my head swell with pride.
I felt it strange then that a person touching distance from me sent me her picture with ease and one holed up halfway around the globe still resisted. At times I sat in wonder and no matter how much I tried to rationalize it, I could not.
The coinciding time zone ensured that I got to see a lot more of Reshma than Marilyn. And yet Marilyn never left my thoughts. She was the first real friend, my first teacher on the net and I was eternally in her debt for that. Marilyn had become comfortable with me as I with her. We were like a hand and a well-worn glove, comfortable; like well-worn underwear, comfortable. I had yet to reach that level with Reshma, I did not think I would but one day I did.
The rains had arrived in India and much of the subcontinent was breathing a sigh of relief after the harsh, cruel, hot and very dry summer. I was online when Pager flashed a message that Delta2000, now known as Reshma to me, had just logged in. Within the blink of an eye, we were locked in chat with each other.
I could sense from her words that not everything was all right with her. I probed and prodded and finally she told me.
Delta2000: I am alone in my office and I hate being alone here.
VikSin: can I come over?
Delta2000: PLEASE DO
VikSin: I wish I could just fax myself over
Delta2000: just turning on the fax machine …
VikSin: lol … I wish I could actually do that
Delta2000: I am waiting so come on over
VikSin: u are alone in the office n me in there with u … wow … lol
Delta2000: I could do with some company here.
VikSin: u really sound low
Delta2000: I am.
VikSin: sorry to hear that
Delta2000: don’t be sorry … just come over NOW
VikSin: oh reshma, I wish I could … but tell me something
Delta2000: yes?
VikSin: do u trust me so much?
Delta2000: yes
VikSin: u hardly know me and yet u believe that I could be alone with u?
Delta2000: I don’t make friends easily vik, but if I have then I trust them
VikSin: I understand that … but I could be a murderer for all u know n still u trust me?
Delta2000: I don’t know, but my heart says I can trust u
VikSin: u really touched me, u actually believe that in yr heart?
Delta2000: I don’t say things I don’t mean
VikSin: I hear ya
Delta2000: I have told my husband all about u.
VikSin: oh wow … is he ready to chase me with a shotgun?
Delta2000: no no no … I told him I met u in chat n that u were a good friend
VikSin: I told u about my friend from Canada, right?
Delta2000: u mentioned something about her
VikSin: I have been in touch for over 6 months now and I still don’t know her last name
Delta2000: I am not that way
VikSin: I know that … but what I mean is that on the Net, I have found out that people don’t trust easily.
Delta2000: once it happened to me too
VikSin: what happened?
Delta2000: I met this guy who is from Delhi but lives in Europe now
VikSin: and?
Delta2000: we became good friends but one day he wrote an email to me saying he was madly in love with me
VikSin: oh shoot
Delta2000: n my husband saw the mail
VikSin: what happened then?
Delta2000: he was very cool about it n told me that I was old enough to know what to do
VikSin: I love that man … he is really cool
Delta2000: so I sent him an email telling him that I was married, which he knew n that I could not chat with him anymore.
VikSin: I am so sorry to hear this
Delta2000: no need to be sorry
VikSin: I would never do such a thing to anyone, I love my wife a lot n would never leave her for the world
Delta2000: see that is what I am so comfortable with
VikSin: what?
Delta2000: I can see that u are clear in yr mind about what u want from the Net n that friendship should remain just that
VikSin: exactly
Delta2000: I was telling my hubby the same thing when I spoke about u.
VikSin: what did he say?
Delta2000: he just said that I should be careful n not get carried away
VikSin: I understand that very well reshma, I will never hurt u
Delta2000: I believe that
VikSin: I am really glad u do
Delta2000: I do
VikSin: now let me get u out of this depressed mood … lol
Delta2000: ok … good luck
VikSin: let me see … am calling my private jet pilot right now
Delta2000: private jet? … lol
VikSin: yup, n will tell him that he has to take me to u … lol
Delta2000: sounds good
VikSin: calling him on the other phone right now … lol
Delta2000: so is he ready? … lol
VikSin: can’t reach him, will call him later … lol but tell me what would u do if I was actually there?
Delta2000: hmm … probably invite u to sit down n serve u hot pakoras and coffee
VikSin: I love pakoras but would rather have hot chocolate … lol
Delta2000: hot chocolate is good too … lol
VikSin: yes n then what?
Delta2000: vik don’t start this with me … because I am so depressed I could cry on your shoulder
VikSin: no way, I am not going to let u cry … I would sit n look into your eyes all day long, without saying a word.
Delta2000: I am crying right now
VikSin: please stop … I will wipe yr tears
Delta2000: I can’t stop crying … .
VikSin: what happened reshma?
Delta2000: I sometimes get depressed for no reason
VikSin: is it something to do with yr monthly cycles?
Delta2000: ha ha NO … u know a lot about women … lol
VikSin: I have got u laughing for a change … lol
Delta2000: yes but still wondering about u … lol
VikSin: wondering what?
Delta2000: just that you could so easily talk about a woman’s problems … lol
VikSin: hey I told u … I have been with a lot of women … lol so I guess I can make a good guess
Delta2000: a lot of women? … hmm so am I going to be just one of them too?
VikSin: now wait just one moment. What I meant was that when I was younger I had a lot of girlfriends and in the States one even lived with me … I don’t mean that I want to mak
e u or anyone else a statistic in my life.
Delta2000: I am JUST KIDDING … don’t get upset … lol
VikSin: just as long as u understand me … I have never treated any woman as a plaything nor will I ever do it … is that understood?
Delta2000: yes sir, it is understood
VikSin: n stop ‘siring’ me … lol
The chat ended but the thoughts remain with me to this day. I cannot comprehend why it felt so nice to be trusted, especially by a stranger. And yet it did. To me making friends on the Internet was akin to an explorer let loose in untamed, uncharted, unknown Africa. I would have loved to ask one of them why they were there, braving all. They probably would have told me that it was the sheer excitement of adventure, of discovering new species of life form, of unearthing hidden treasure even if it meant risking their life. There was fame, there was fortune and there was glory awaiting them when they returned with stories of their finds, with proof of their adventures. To me there was nothing even remotely similar waiting out there. And yet I felt touched, felt wanted and felt warm all over whenever I got to the heart of a stranger who merely read words hammered from my keyboard.
The only perceptible difference it made to my life was that my wife and I had something new to discuss every time I told her about a chat session or a new friend that I made in cyberspace. The dark shadow of unhappiness that threatened to engulf my marriage was in some strange way receding. It brought back the warmth of intimacy that my marriage possessed in its early days, the one that had disappeared in visiting clinics, pathology labs and programmed sex.
And so I went on like the explorers, into unknown territory, uncharted areas and misunderstood confines of stranger’s minds. Or was it all that I was doing?
3. The Great North / South Divide!
A Madrasi normally refers to a resident of Madras, a major port city of South India. A Punjabi refers to a resident of the State of Punjab in North India. But ask a Madrasi and he would tell you that everyone north of the Vindhya Mountains, thousands of kilometers south of the border of Punjab, was a Punjabi. Similarly, ask any North Indian and to him anyone residing in one of the four southern states is a Madrasi. It had become a generic brand, all northern Indians classified as Punjabis and all southern Indians deemed (or doomed) to be Madrasis. It was comfortable, like well-worn underwear. And thus began the great divide.
The division existed everywhere. The food was different; the language spoken was too. The scripts had nothing in common, physical appearances as contrasting as day and night. Punjabis were mostly meat eating, beer-guzzling, barrel-chested, boisterous, tall and fair humans. Madrasis were mostly vegetarian, coffee guzzling, thin, soft spoken, short and dark humans. They believed they were different for they chose to ignore their similarities.
They shared similar religious beliefs, had similar ceremonies and even shared similar festivals. Man was a strange animal, possessing an even stranger mind, one that chose to believe that which made it comfortable; like comfortable well-worn underwear.
For all their diversities and similarities, they were Indians, true blooded and patriotic. They fought hunger, they fought wars, and they stood by each other whenever calamity struck. Shoulder to shoulder. The differences were forgotten the similarities were too. All that remained were Indians, people of one nation who believed in each other… well most of the time they did.
For a Punjabi girl to marry a Madrasi boy was blasphemy. The vice versa was true too. It was a call to arms of sorts. The Punjabis with tandoori chicken in hand, the Madrasis a cup of hot coffee in theirs, would be locked in contest to secure their right not to marry the other. Neither side heard the groom-to-be for he was always branded the seducer, no matter which community he was born in. Normally the bride was too busy playing referee, unclenching a pair of boxers, to be heard. Tempers would fray, abuses would shower, and all in all a sight only an audience of non-Punjabis and non-Madrasis would applaud from the bleachers. I should know, I was born a Punjabi. And one day I met another on the Internet.
*
In real life I have just one sister. She is a proud mother of one even though she married six years after I did. She was on her way to see her soon to arrive nephew or niece. Siblings share a strange love between them. They fight with passion and love each other with some more passion. As I shy away from taking the challenge thrown by the barbers’ refuse, my mind wanders to another one who calls me brother. She was not born of the same mother, nor did we share the same father. I had yet to see her in the flesh and yet she was my sister. I remember the first time I met her on the net, it was just one of those days when neither Marilyn nor Reshma was online. The net junkie that I had almost become, I found myself in an Indian chat room, trying to satisfy my craving.
*
The new room I entered that day had fewer people but they all seemed to be chatting in the main chat room. The conversation was surprisingly lively and everyone seemed to be in a good mood there. I joined them. In a lively chat-room, there is usually a lot of activity because there are quite a few people who seem to respond to you. That day there were three responding to my messages and it was getting difficult to keep pace with all of them. One of them got my attention. The person behind the ID told me that she was a single woman, 26-years-old, and living in New Delhi. We moved from the main chat room to Private Messages.
The city she mentioned got me curious. I had not forgotten the encounter with beautiful_eyes. Could this be another of the same species? I could not have been more wrong.
I came to know that the ID called Axes26 that went into private chat with me had a name in real life, Aviva. Our first chat restricted itself to general information about each other and our respective professional lives. Marilyn’s new rules had been broken once; I did not want to test them again. Aviva told me she was a medical research student, part of a team at one of India’s premiere medical facilities in Delhi. All through our first chat and then the second and third I looked for signs to tell me that she was similar in character to beautiful_eyes and I could not find any. A few times together on the net and my mind slowly put beautiful_eyes and all her idiosyncrasies on the back burner. And then Aviva told me something that I had only heard about in stories.
She told me that she had met a software programmer on the net some months back. He was single and so was she. He was lonely and so was she. He believed he could find his mate on the Internet and surprisingly so did she. The first time I heard this, I chuckled silently. I remember a grin was plastered to my face and disbelief was the only emotion consorting with me.
My other ‘girlfriend’ Confusion just did not have it in her to flirt with me.
Finding a mate on the net? Sounded ridiculous.
And yet here was a woman telling me that she actually found someone who was as ridiculous a thinker as she was. I prodded, probed, and to my surprise found out that she was dead serious about this. The guy regularly logged on to chat with her and the relationship had reached a decisive point. It was so far-gone that the two had decided to get married even though they had not seen each other in the flesh.
Talk about love being blind, here it had taken two brains for a long walk around the garden path.
I mentioned this to my alternative brain, Dolly. Strangely though she was not amused or cynical about it. She argued that if people could get married using marriage bureaus or placing ads in matrimonial columns of newspapers then they surely could get married just by chatting on the net. Try as I may, I could not change this opinion. A day would come when I would be proved wrong.
But that was still far away. I certainly did not believe it would ever arrive. In chat, I probed Aviva further, asking her what the problem was. She told me that the biggest stumbling block was the fact that she was a Punjabi and he was a Madrasi.
The Great North / South divide had surfaced on the Internet!
To me it was downright ridiculous. I restrained my thoughts and never let them stray into the words I pounded on the keyboard t
o Aviva. She trusted me and there was nothing that I would ever do to betray that trust. I guess it was a case of ‘Different Strokes for Different Folks’.
Who was I to be the judge here?
The only reason I even got into the chat room was to kill time, my other friends having deserted me that day.
Over the next few times we logged into chat, Aviva gave me more details. She told me all about the pressures of being the first-born. I certainly could empathize with that because I was one too. As soon as she had reached her twenty-first birthday her grandmother, grandfather and all the other ‘grandees’ that could gather around, did, to coerce Aviva to get married.
This breed of Indian ‘grandees’ is another unique specie, well into their sixties or seventies and sometimes eighties, free time is all they possess. And what better way to spend this free time than to indulge in matchmaking.
A wedding in India is a very big occasion, as it is in most parts of the world. The pomp, the gaiety, the celebrations are like nectar from the gods for the ‘grandees’ - an elixir that rejuvenates their mundane lives. Well, sometimes it is.
When a match has been ‘arranged’ with the elders of the house going into a huddle, deciding mundane issues of caste, creed and lineage of the two prospective life partners then the pomp, the gaiety and the celebrations always achieve fever pitch.
However, should either introduce the concepts of marrying for love or of choosing a spouse from a different community, religion, or caste, then the pomp is gone, the gaiety discarded and celebrations forgotten. The ‘grandees’ would still huddle, this time to determine ways to sabotage the marriage or to brainwash the prospective partners to choose from an acceptable lineage - in short, to be royal pains in the ass. And that is exactly what transpired at the respective North / South houses.
Aviva gave me graphic details of how eyebrows were raised when she first mentioned that she was in love with Vinod, how foreheads frowned when she revealed that she had met him on the Internet and how all hell broke loose when she disclosed that he was a South Indian. The scene at Vinod’s house had not been any different.
