Time Traveler

You log on to Facebook in the morning.

You read notifications. Desultorily, almost flippantly, you reply to comments. You throw down your obligatory two cents at the feet of the wisdom others have spouted during the night when you were catching your eight hours like a good girl. Your day has begun.

You kick imaginary stones around on cyberspace, moodily. You sidle in and out of random profiles. You snicker some, curl up your lip some and guffaw lots. How stupid some people are, you tell yourself pompously. You see a profile photo and are touched by a feeling of grudging respect. There’s no way you’d have permitted yourself to be photographed if you possessed a map like that! People, you are forced to confess, are a lot more courageous than you ever gave them credit for.

You pointless browsing around has now definitely begun to make you feel guilty. You have a mountain of work to plough through today. A part of you feels pleased and avenged. It doesn’t matter that you have nothing to avenged for; that’s irrelevant.

You land on a profile where a status message says- RIP Manisha. You do have a common friend called Manisha. This must be some other Manisha, naturally.

The one you know has every last pore bristling with life so outrageous that death would slink away from her, ashamed. She is a girl so full or irreverent laughter that every time you speak to her on the phone, you have to massage your ear for an hour and promise not to use it for a month otherwise it would down tools on you permanently.

A girl who writes such delightful rib- ticklers that you’d be compelled to throw away your dignity and roll on the floor like a three year old being tickled, shrieking hysterically with laughter. A girl with whom you share a taste in books and whose admiration of old PGW rivals yours- a feat in itself.

A girl who has been the source of your most hilarious exchanges on some hapless common friend’s timeline when the two of you tore the poor man into shreds as he manfully did likewise to you. A girl whose smile contained precipitous levels of naughtiness as easily as it if were a caring tear. A girl so full of life and laughter that you wish you could have just one sip from the same fountain of youth she was gulping her fill from. A girl who was barely in her prime.

I’ve nothing left to say because the comments on her wall said CANCER. And she, the impossible, aggravating QUEEN CAT that she was, typically told no one. She wanted to have the last laugh- and there’s no denying the queen.

I wont ask you to rest in peace Manisha; I refuse to cry. You have only traveled forward in time. Wait for me there, I will meet you soon.

There are many laughs we haven’t laughed yet.


29 thoughts on “Time Traveler”

  1. “You throw down your obligatory two cents at the feet of the wisdom others have spouted during the night when you were catching your eight hours like a good girl.” . I couldn’t help laughing 🙂 . We are fighting against boredom every day dear. As the great Samuel Becket says in his famous play Waiting for Godot, “Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time! It’s abominable! When! When! One day, is that not enough for you, one day he went dumb, one day I went blind, one day we’ll go deaf, one day we were born, one day we shall die, the same day, the same second, is that not enough for you? They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more.”

    My Mother-in-law, a lovely energetic lady, has been down for the last two months with cancer. I can see her measured look in her eyes. A cancer for one is cancer for the family in a way.

    Loved your write-up

    1. PGR,

      What a phrase that is ‘measured look’! What more is there to say? Measured, counted and finite. Only, one needs to ask this: What did you measure up to? What did you count FOR? What were the infinities you finiteness demonstrated?

      Mr Becket’s words are illuminating. I thought of you three days ago. I was remembering a post you wrote on idioms and proverbs. It was the first post I had read from you. I still remember it.

      Thank you for dropping by. 🙂 Its such a pleasure to see you always.

    1. You’ve said exactly what ought to have been said. There now, don’t cry. Manisha would have hated it. I wish you had met her. You’d have hit it off with her instanter!

  2. I feel sorry for ur friend !
    felt a lacuna in the gut when I read this 🙁
    may god give power to her near and dear to face the loss
    take care Dagny !

    1. What you said, and didn’t say, are more than enough Renu. Thank you. I am bad a condolences too. Words seem so futile and pointless so I clam up.

    1. Hugs back to you Ruchira. All the more shocking because you never knew there was anything wrong. How we assume people are going to be around tomorrow..! This has been a big lesson to me.

  3. Sorry to hear about your friend. But by your words, I know that she must have lived her life to the fullest everyday when she could. Not all of us have so much life in us.

    1. That she surely did Pooja. She lived and then some. That’s why I will always miss her.

      Thank you for your words. 🙂

  4. Looks like someone I would have liked to know. And yes, there are many laughs yet to be laughed. We’ll all catch up one day with those who were in a tearing hurry to leave. Hugs.

    1. She was certainly one to have been a fabulous blogeshwari- only she didn’t have a blog, though she wrote awesome humor.

      Some day, yeah, we’ll catch up with them.

      Hugs Shail 🙂

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