Saturday, November 24, 2007

Saturday Blues

He was typing on his mobile, what was apparently, an sms. He wasn't typing fast, atleast not when compared to the speeds at which a lot of people he had been with typed. They used to type like life depended on it! And he used to wonder, maybe it really did. Maybe the person recieving the message, was all that mattered to the sender. And sometimes the smile that appeared on their faces, when a new message came, only reinforced his belief.

His message wasn't going to hold anybody's life at stake. Not today. Not this cold saturday afternoon. Maybe never. The match on tv was as lacklustre as the commentary that was fell in his ears every now and then. Sending a text message was definitely something better to concentrate on. It was the “in” thing after all…being occupied with your mobile while the person sitting next to you is trying to make a conversation with you. His case was better. The only person around, was in the kitchen. And she didn’t have to use text messaging to remind him food was ready.

His life couldn’t have been more exciting. A newfound corporate job with a paycheck that could’ve sustained a typical lower-middle class family a decade ago, a bunch of amicable colleagues, who smiled at him whenever he smiled at them, and a mobile phone that could even send text messages! And today was a holiday! Today was the day he had all the time in the world to spend, the way he wanted. Which was exactly his problem. He had tried calling home a couple of people he considered friends, who took liberty of the same, to tell him he was too boring to meet up with. He was sick of staring into the computer screen, and certainly not in the mood for music.

He wondered if he was asking too much of God. Why had God not made him like others? Why did he look different from the rest? Why did he not “belong” to groups? Why was he unable to penetrate beyond basic pleasantries when talking to people? Why was he not engaged in long, hushed conversations? Why did he not have a shoulder to lean on? Why was he unable to spend one Saturday afternoon in peace? Was this “insecurity”, as one of his “friends” put it? He continued typing. In a few seconds he would’ve sent his message. He would’ve become like the others. For he would’ve done something normal. The few seconds passed… And a few more… Finally his mobile buzzed! The message he had sent to himself arrived…

Everything we get in life is a compromise for something we want, and everything life doesn't give us,is what we want most