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By Trilokjit Sengupta

trilokjit sengupta metal communicationsIt’s Thursday. My “A Wodehouse A Week” project is coming along very well. Finished ‘Thank you, Jeeves’ for the umpteenth time last night and almost immediately my world felt settled.

The shoulders resumed normal shape and I could feel my elbows work again (i.e. they are bending). But I don’t know how long ‘pretty phase’ might last. If I go searching for old books over the weekend maybe I can sustain the feeling till Tuesday. But that’s good enough.

Been reading a lot of blogs of late. It is such a personal space. Yet so public. As you read this, a large number of people over the world are furiously scribbling away their lives in utmost detail. Waiting for a stumbling footprint of a complete stranger. Who comes unseen and leaves behind a small trail of words; that means the world. And it goes on. Someone shares a picture of her favourite flower. Someone writes of the abandoned dog he had a conversation with. And a faceless lover sits and pines for someone he has been in love with all of his life. But is yet to meet her.

There are endless stories. Some funny. Some exaggerated. Some vague. But all of them real. Well, as real as you and me anyway. I mean I don’t know you, but you are here and reading this. And I have written it and hence you are. I don’t know if it’s complicated. On the surface we can blame/attribute this to technology and get away with it. Back to the usual stuff we do, everyday. Rip a small bag of peanuts, take a telephone call, suddenly remember the smell of an ex-lover. Or hear her mobile phone ring in your head and start looking around feverishly, nervous and excited at the same time. Things we do without realizing, understanding or questioning why. Sub-human almost.

That’s why we blog. Because we know how we honestly feel for even a second a day, can now be communicated to someone else. And we don’t even know their real names. Or how they look. What jobs they have. What books they read. What they like to eat for dessert. We don’t know. We don’t care if they are good in bed. We don’t care if they are selfish. Or asthmatic. Or if they leave their wet towels on their beds. All we want them to do is read. “Please, I don’t know you, but can you be involved in my life for just a brief moment. I really need you, even if I don’t know you.” Please?