Seven Shades of Grey (4 page)

My reading material did not include much about the effects of the Internet on the lives of the common man, but I knew this much: the effect was there, and
time would reveal how profound it really was.

My pet emotion, confusion, had deserted me by then. Clarity her stepsister had taken over. I think confusion is the consort of women and one that women love to let loose on men they love. My woman was about to follow suit. It was as if she wanted me to dance with her, flirt with her and make slow passionate love to her. Just as I was getting comfortable with clarity along came my wife, confusion in tow.

‘Do you really think this person is a woman?’ With such an innocent question did
she place
me in Confusion’s hand before turning to head back to the safe sanctuary of her kitchen, a huge grin plastered on her angelic face, long before I could
blurt out a
 
reply.

‘Honestly? I don’t know,’ I muttered after her.

Now here was an interesting twist to the tale. There was a lot of wisdom in the question and one that made me think.

With the progress that man made in this century conventional means of venting ones feelings were thrown out along with the day’s garbage. We as humans had advanced by building bigger and not necessarily productive things, in the process harming our own psychological balance.

Confusion!

In the earlier days, things were simpler. A man went to earn the daily bread for his family, his woman at home keeping heart and hearth flaming. Then men fought two world wars and a few smaller ones, women went to work and marriages went to divorce court. The very fabric of society changed. The hippies came followed by bra burning liberators. What was simple became complicated and the world seemed to adopt one major emotion.

Confusion!

Among all this upheaval and turmoil, the World Wide Web spread its tentacles silently and efficiently.

A woman could now sit in the comfort of her home and express herself without the fear of reprimand from society, without anger from her husband if he did not know what she was up to
,
without being dishonest to her daily life if she juggled her time wisely. She could vent her feelings to a stranger and remain a stranger to the world. Her secrets were locked up in her heart and the massive server that housed chat programs. In a way, the Net performed an exorcism on troubled souls.

This woman could be a man trapped in a man’s body, or a man trapped in a woman’s or she could be a mere woman. She could be an introvert in reality and an extrovert once she adorned the garb of a chatter on the Net. She could be a soul that has been tormented with ghosts of her past or present or could be one believing the ghost of her future was just waiting to trash her present.

This taught me a valuable lesson and thankfully in my infant days on the Net. I learnt that not everyone was what they showed themselves to be, just as in real life. The place they try to make in cyberspace is probably one that was impossible in real life. I would never know for sure, my thoughts were just a sparring exercise with the truth, at best. I had to remember that I had to leave room for such souls to find whatever it is that they searched for. And like all perfect humans I was doomed to forget this.

N
aturally, I was condemned to repeat the same history that time made me forget.

2
.
A Kolhapuri Mirchee from Bhopal

Kolhapur is a medium-sized town in the state of Maharashtra. Mirchee in the local language defines
hot green peppers
. Bhopal is a similar sized town in the Central Indian State of Madhya Pradesh.

Kolhapur is famous for its textiles, its
temples and the fiery flavor of its Mirchee. One bite and the palate needs the services of a fire engine. The people lead a simple life, weaving intricate designs on their handlooms and setting their palates on fire with Mirchee.

Bhopal too is a similar town with a sprinkling of businesses keeping it afloat. The city is famous for the quintessential Indian mouth-freshener
Paan
, for Indian sweets and for the character of its
people. Just like Paan imparts a crimson red to a hitherto colorless spit, the city colors the character of its residents.
These Paan chewing, red-spit spitting people have a unique and harmless way of twisting the truth. One particular incident stands out clearly in my mind.

Once on the second day of a train journey, Bhopal station arrived at around 2:30 am. I was rudely awakened by a swarm of bloodthirsty mosquitoes feasting on me. In the distance, I heard the voice of a newspaper seller. ‘
Aaj ki taaza khabur
(Today’s hottest news)… India wins test on fourth day.’ I was intrigued. The Indian Cricket team was going through a rough patch and I knew we were pitted against the mighty Australians. The match had been evenly poised the previous day and it would be nothing short of a miracle to win it on the fourth. I tried to get back to sleep when the voice yelled again. This time the news item was different. ‘The Prime Minister has lost the vote of confidence … the Lok Sabha has been dissolved’. What was that?

I did not even think a vote of confidence was being taken in the Lok Sabha, the Indian Lower House of Parliament. Well strange things have happened in just a day, I thought. And then the voice made another startling announcement. ‘Famous Actor… shot and killed by gangsters.’

I just could not hold myself back. I was out of my berth faster than a jackrabbit with a fox on its tail. In the minute that it took me to get on to the platform and thrust money in exchange for the newspaper, my mind was a whirlwind. I almost regretted being on the train when so much was happening in the country. A hundred thoughts went flashing through my mind and yet I was focused on acquiring the paper.

There was a gaggle of curious passengers, a crowd already thrusting money at the vendor and others racing to join in. I clawed my way out of the crowd that threatened to engulf the vendor, my newspaper firmly clamped by sweaty fingers, my free hand swimming against the tide. I reached the comfort of my berth and switched on the reading light. The first thing I noticed was that the newspaper was in Hindi. I groaned. Hindi being the national language and one taught extensively in schools I could read, albeit not as fluently as I read English.

I first tried to scan the newspaper for those headlines that had made me buy the paper in the first place. Nothing! I then tried to read the headlines in detail, straining to comprehend the language, when I felt a sullen silence descend on the platform. I figured the newspaper vendor had sold his wares and hence retreated to wherever newspaper vendors went after they sold their morning stocks.

I re-read the first major headline and found it strange. I could almost swear that I had read the same headline in the previous day’s English edition. I flipped the pages and saw more familiar and old headlines. I thought to myself that maybe the Hindi editions received news late and hence I was reading some old along with some new news. The more pages I turned the more the mystery deepened and just then the train tugged at its reins, shrugged its shoulders so to speak and slowly left Bhopal station behind. It was then that I glanced at the date of the newspaper.
It was dated the previous day!

I could not help but laugh at the fool I was made out to be. The newspaper had cost me next to nothing but I marveled at the marketing skills of the vendor. He had used the situation to his advantage and made a sale of something that was virtually impossible to sell. It was this ingenuity that seemed to flow in the taps of Bhopal that brought me a life long friend on the Internet.

‘Is anyone above 35 in this room?’ the message flashed on my computer screen.

It had been a few weeks since I had first met Marilyn. Just the previous week Yahoo had announced the setting up of Regional Rooms in its Chat program. This gave one a better chance of meeting people from the same country in the vast expanse of the Internet. The first few days, there was just a sprinkling of people in the India room but slowly the numbers began to grow. I made sure I spent at least some time in the Indian room in the hope that I got lucky and met someone from the same city.

I checked the profile of the ID that had typed the message. It stated that the owner of the ID was a woman, thirty-five years of age and very married. The first thing that hit me was the honesty of the profile. I was impressed by the fact that a woman had boldly stated her age, her marital status and that she was from India. I opened a private chat window and sent a message to the woman that I so far knew as
Delta2000
.

VikSin
: I am barely 35 does that count?

I typed.

In a flash, she responded.

Delta2000
: Hi!

And we were on our way.

*

I wish I were on my way to my wife’s bedside right now. I would love to hold her in my arms run my fingers through her hair whispering sweet nothings in her ear. I would love to hold my baby in my arms too and do what fathers did with their newborn. Instead, I looked at my faithful companion, the pregnant ox-like clock that had barely made any progress. My eyes stared at nothing on the white-plaster walls, and the barbers’ refuse still glared back at me, almost challenging me to pick it up. The hospital-smelling, antiseptic reeking, artificial-leather chair hugged my bottoms just a bit more. It was probably choking under my weight and of course, I had no sympathy for it; after all, I had better things to do. My face always smiled as if on autopilot whenever I thought of my Bhopal ‘girlfriend’, the one that wanted to know if there was anyone above 35 in the room. And to her thoughts, I let my mind go.

*

In our very first chat we got to know a lot about each other. She was born in Kolhapur, grew up in Bombay and was married in Bhopal where she hoped to live and die -
A Kolhapuri Mirchee from Bhopal
.

She had two sons - a sign of success of her fifteen-year-old marriage, a loving husband, a well paying and mentally satisfying job. She loved Punjabi food, loved Punjabi men although she was not married to one. We had fun that day, taking small digs at our respective backgrounds, learning about each other, our friends, our lives in cyberspace and the one we lived in the real world. We both knew about Pager and we both added our respective IDs to our respective lists. We both promised to chat regularly as we were in the same time zone. I also got to know her name, Reshma.

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