It is usually around 10am when I find myself waiting for that familiar knock. The moment I hear it, I get all energised, even though it has come to be routine now. The Messenger, a harbinger of joy, resides in my computer and commands my ultimate faith. Never did I imagine that a piece of software, and one that was downloaded 'free', would become so indispensable. My life has been taken over by this Messenger. I dread the day when someone comes up with the theory that the Messenger is harmful to mankind. And I conjure up images of de-addiction centres that will spring up to solve the new problem. A typical day starts off with an Internet login. The prime motive is to get the Messenger running. In an instant, I get to know the status, as in online or offline, of the many dear ones and the not-so-dear ones spread across the world. And we all connect with each other in this one realm of existence -- chat. It is also the easiest way to get a count of how many emails I have received and to access them without encountering fussy login screens. Some of those pages consume time, take effort, display hideous advertisement banners and dish out generous helpings of information on their other services and products that are of no significance to me. Almost everybody I know has a Messenger, sometimes more than just one. They go by names like Yahoo, MSN, AOL, et cetera. Personally, I use two of these Messengers. One, to chat with my parents and a few friends, mostly involving pre-scheduled meetings. The other, for all and sundry and at all times. My parents and I haven't been nicer to each other. Especially given the fact that we chat so often. When I was young and lived with them, disaster was the order of the day. Moving to another city had them complain that I didn't call or visit enough. Now that I have moved countries away, they have acquired a newfound quiescence. They even bought a computer and had it set up with the Messenger! And got Net-savvy. Cross talk is not a possibility and in fact a blessing in disguise. My mom and I could never hear the other one out. But now, we don't have a choice. This is accentuated by the fact that my mom doesn't have a good typing speed. So we can't settle scores that way either. We have finally evolved into two mature women. At last! I strongly recommend this method of communication to anyone who cannot hold discussions or arguments without flying off the handle. My computer is plunked on a serious-looking office desk, complete with a plush leather office chair. And I sit with the headphones and mike on, looking like a woman with a mission. Well, it is some mission, to scout the e-world for people -- establishing contacts and exchanging updates as the day goes by. I have moved many cities in my life, becoming habituated to losing friends and making new ones. But this time around, I was able to put it all back together, with just as much ease as unpacking my clothes. A computer and an Internet connection are all it took me to get my network in place. I was soon saying my ritualistic 'hi' and 'bye' to the same people who had constituted my existence. Email would, in a way, accomplish this feat. But it is no comparison to real-time chat. September 11 proved that to me. I was watching live on TV as one tragic scene after another unfolded. I was left numb with disbelief and shock for a while. And as I recovered, my first impulse was to let loved ones know that I was safe. The phone lines were busy. But soon, one after the other, everyone got online. And we were all able to reach out. Then there are those moments that may seem trivial to anyone but me -- like the times when Sheba's occasional bark comes through when I am chatting with my parents. Sheba is my doggie. She was my constant companion for almost a decade. Now she lives with my parents. Her bark warms my heart and I hope that my voice, emitted from the speakers at her end, comfort her too. A friend I would have missed tremendously, had it not been for the Messenger, is Kudva. He is an eloquent and equally impatient young man with the habit of using the BUZZ feature. He types a line or two and I'd say that he counts to three. By then he either needs to get a reply or see the status as 'typing'. Else, all hell breaks loose and he starts BUZZing. The very first BUZZ startled the living daylights out of me. And it sure made its point. But I warn anyone from ever using it while in chat with a person who has a heart condition. We all wish for chat sessions to have happy endings, don't we? My husband, however, is more than a little wary of the Messenger. He steers clear of it most of the time. For some reason, it reminds me of the typical male fear of the pressure cooker. Call me idealistic, but I dream of the day when the whole world will be thus connected -- transcending all barriers and borders. Long live the Messenger! We strongly recommend Rediff Bol to Lekshmi Nair. Illustration: Uttam Ghosh FROM THE SAME PEN: Thank you, Autumn Tell us what you think of this diary Be part of an exciting venture! Write a Diary!
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