Digital Echoes

Sipping his morning tea, he scrolled through his phone, a routine pilgrimage to the social media feed. His eye caught the calendar notifications, little blue flags marking the day's special dates. "Send wishes; it's..." The prompt jarred him. ‘Too early in the day to wish any’, and he mentally pushed the task away, but the same reminders echoed across his social platforms: three birthdays. One name, however, brought a sharp, cold recognition: Vik. Vik had been gone for a while now.

The digital reminder was a small, cruel trigger. It drew a long, sorrowful line connecting him to the many others who had departed over the past few years—friends, colleagues, and beloved family members. Some had lived full spans, passing from natural causes. Others were tragically young, swept away by accidents, difficult lifestyle choices, or the merciless wave of the pandemic.

He realized then that their names still populated his contact lists; their timelines remained, ghostly active, in his feeds. "Perhaps it's time to sever these digital ties," he quietly mused. With a sigh, he navigated to his friends list, a desire for closure finally nudging him toward the profiles of the departed—more than a dozen faces now fixed in time.

He started clicking, intending to unlink, to archive the past.

But he couldn't do it.

With each profile he visited, a rush of bittersweet memories overwhelmed the practical need for deletion. There were pictures of shared laughter, nostalgic check-ins from forgotten trips, and inside jokes immortalized in comment threads. This was, he realized with a sudden, aching clarity, the last tangible connection he had left to these cherished people. He had loved their company, valued their friendship, and held onto every shared moment.

A new, warm thought settled over the cold intention of deletion. "Perhaps this isn't a flaw in the system, but a gentle grace," he thought, the early light warming his hands around the mug. "Maybe this is the universe, utilizing the very tools of technology, to gift me a simple, necessary task: to remember them on their days of celebration, and to hold their light a little longer."

The contact lists and friendships remained untouched. He closed his phone, a feeling of deep-seated peace and enduring love replacing the earlier discomfort. He couldn’t  send a message to the departed, but he could greet the day in his own way. In the quiet hope that they too acknowledged that they were fondly remembered. 

Gratitude

My face lit up, breaking into a broad smile.

Reconnecting my phone after a much-needed, internet-free holiday with my partner, I expected a deluge of work messages. What I didn't expect was the flood of congratulations. As I scrolled and read, the reason became clear: at his recent retirement farewell, a former colleague, Nagaraj, had publicly credited me with saving his life from depression and self-harm.

The memory jogged back immediately. Years ago, I was heading a different office when Nagaraj arrived, new and completely unreliable. Work was shoddy and absences were frequent. Instead of initiating disciplinary action, I asked to meet him. Nagaraj and his wife came in and revealed his severe depression, triggered by long periods of separation due to distant postings. I immediately promised them my full support, guaranteeing flexible leave and a transfer to a role where Nagaraj had once excelled, as indicated by his former colleagues. I saw to it that he had an empathetic manager, and I made a point of checking in on him myself occasionally, just to reassure him that he was safe in the office. Over time, Nagaraj’s attendance and quality of work visibly improved.

The case had faded into the background over the years and a few transfer, only briefly recalled when Nagaraj was one of three retiring officers who invited me to a joint farewell lunch just before my own beach vacation. Now, the overwhelming impact hit me.

Nagaraj’s wife had also reached out: "Grateful for the faith you reposed in him. He’s almost as good as he used to be.” 

I knew the power of that support. I had faced my own dark moments during unceremonious transfers, and I’d found solace and strength in the help of colleagues and strangers. I closed my phone. "What goes around comes around," I uttered aloud. My partner, who was observing me without a word, gave me a hug and said, “just like us”.

Falling Apart!

A dull ache in his shoulder, a new twinge in his knee - he felt like he was falling apart. This was supposed to be his peak, the moment he finally cashed in on years of work. The modelling gigs, the ad campaigns; they were his for the taking, and they were paying off big time. But the mirror, once his ally, now reflected a stranger. A tired man with dark circles under his eyes, his smile strained from clenching his jaw against the pain. He hadn't listened when his body whispered, and now it was screaming. He needed a lifeline, a sympathetic ear, and there was only one person he trusted.

He called her to meet at a sleek new cafe downtown, all minimalist decor and the strong scent of burnt sugar and espresso. She was a welcome island of calm in his storm, stirring a latte with deliberate grace.

"It started as just an ache in the shoulder," he began, "but now it's a frozen shoulder."

"Hmm," she hummed, not looking up. "The full-body equivalent of a computer freeze."

"It's worse than that. I also have sciatica, and... an ACL tear in my knee."

She finally looked up, her expression a mix of concern and dry amusement. "Dude, you're becoming a one-man hospital ward. I hope you're at least doing something about it."

"I'm in intense physiotherapy, and I've started swimming lessons. Surgeon's orders."

She smiled, a genuine crinkle around her eyes. "Good."

"Good? I'm not seeing any results!" he groaned, running a hand over his face. "As if all that wasn't enough, my tooth enamel is gone, so I have to see a dentist now, too. And then there are the migraines..."

He trailed off, listing his ailments like a shopping list for a tough laundry day. She set her cup down slowly, her gaze fixed on him. For a long, silent moment, she just stared, no longer smiling.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, suddenly defensive. "I'll overcome all of this."

She leaned forward, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'm not feeling bad for you. I'm just thinking that with all the advancements in AI, you're the perfect candidate to be converted into a bionic man.”

He laughed, more sound than mirth. "Oh, come on, don't be so harsh. There are still parts of me that are alive and kicking well."

"I know," she shot back, a teasing grin spreading across her face. "But with the advancements, you may not need them."

He feigned offense. "I meant my brain, silly!"

She lifted her hands in surrender and chuckled. "I meant the same thing."

Dance - Drama!

 

He used to be a fan of spicy food. However, after crossing his 40th (though you remind him of age, he gets irked) he has developed gastritis and acidity, and cannot eat spice like he used to when he was younger. Whatever might be the reasons, he blames Covid for his gastritis. “It is a side effect of having suffered covid multiple times. I got Covid twice after my vaccination”, he explains. He also points how his parents still eat spicy food and nothing happens to them. When his partner points out they too had suffered covid, he dismisses that. “Well, they’re from a different generation with better immunity”, he argues. 

As a result, everyday the cook makes two sets of food - regular spice levels for parents and partner, less spicy fare for him. He and his partner usually eat their breakfasts and dinners together. And, it’s customary for him to point out which one is the spicier version of the day’s food to his partner. 

It’s a day of several meetings, and in his rush to head to work, he doesn’t wait for his partner  to join in, and serves for himself and begins eating. The partner soon joins him in a while, and serves for self and sits next to him to eat. 

He: Did you know which one was for you?

Partner: Yes. 

He: Is it spicy?

Pr: Yes, moderately so. Not very spicy. 

He: Surprisingly, I feel my portion is spicy today. 

Pr: Did you serve yourself the other one by mistake?

He: No! My lips are already burning with this level of spice. If I were to eat yours, I’d be dancing!!

Pr: Oh then your childhood dream would come true. 

He: I wanted to do Bharatanatyam, not taandav!

Pa: Same, same but different! 

Façade

There was fervor at home.  His brother-in-law was returning from the US after having completed his Masters.   His in-laws too were arriving from their bastion into the city, to receive him.  His wife had loved the idea of the party he had proposed to hold welcoming her brother, where even his engagement into another prominent business family would be announced.  

Theirs was a love marriage - convincing her parents was not easy though.  They were landed and rich, while he came from a traditional, educated, but poor family.  However, the equations had only grown better with time; they appreciated his acumen, and how he had helped in recommending new ideas for their business, even though he had not formally joined in. He continued to build his career in the world away from the family. His brother-in-law - younger by several years - adored him. 

All the buzz had gone quiet with that one phone call.  The boy had been killed in a shooting incident at his University, just a day before he was to return to his motherland.  Squeals of laughter and mirth had turned into screams of pain and wails of sadness. Soon, the entire house became quiet as a grave, as relatives left, and grief hung like a cloud in the air. 

Days went by, and all the due rituals were complete.  He was sitting out in the lawns and contemplating over his drink.  His mobile rang.  It was manager of the hotel where the party was supposed to have taken place.  "Sir, I know you couldn't hold the party due to the loss in the family.  If you so desire, we will nominally deduct the reservation charges, and return the rest of the money to you.  Let us know soon". He said he would get back to them in a day or two. 

*********

"Wow, never did you host such a great do.  Love the spread, and the booze. Sheer class!"  His close friends admired the arrangements, and he beamed. 

"What is the occasion, M? Why this sudden party?" 
"I am just sharing my happiness..." he trailed off.
"And, that is?"
“You’ll know”. He winked and smiled. 

They were his best friends. But, he just chose to be careful.  Masks were important in the world.  After all, at home he was still the grieving brother-in-law. 

Outcomes!

 It was that time of the year when the performance awards were announced by the firm. She was waiting expectantly too. She knew she had done well, had better numbers than most, and should make it. 

The last time round, she had missed out on winning even though her performance was strong. The Management had called her and said, “We are extremely sorry; we somehow weren’t given these figures of yours, and we couldn’t consider you because of that. Please continue with your performance, and we are sure you’ll be the topper”. The awards came with bonuses and other benefits, and she was flummoxed as to how her numbers didn’t reach the Management. Glitches in systems! Technical or human, she wasn’t certain.  She was compensated by a minor promotion and some cash benefits, but they weren’t the same as recognition. 

This time though she had ensured her numbers had reached the Top Brass for consideration, and she didn’t want to miss out on what she felt was hers, deservedly. These awards weren’t sent as mails or messages, but announced at a glitzy dinner each year.  As the evening warmed up on a rainy day, the Boss was on stage to do the honours. 

She felt rage flowing through her as this time  too she hadn’t made it to the list. Someone from her own team - her underling - was chosen over her.  As though to drive home the message, she was asked to deliver the honour! She had to endure a further painful hour before she could head home and vent her frustration. 

The next day, the Boss had requested her to join in for tea. She thought to herself, “Is it to tell again they messed up, or is it to let me know that they are fixing it this time?” She practised mindfulness for an extra five minutes to soother her nerves, and to tell herself that she wouldn’t overreact during her meeting with the Boss. Her resignation letter was feeling all the pressure of her hands. 

As she entered his cabin, she found that there were two others - her immediate superior, and another person she didn’t recognise, a regal looking woman. She was introduced to her as the CEO of the firm that was planning to acquire the firm she was working at. “How in the hell do I matter in this?”, was her question in mind. She smiled instead. No drama in front of an as-yet-outsider. 

The Boss started, “As our merger happens soon, we needed someone who would be heading the change management team. We would like to offer you the new role”. Was this a joke, she seethed as she heard the words. No explanation or apology for leaving her out of awards! It took a while for her to gather her wits and ready a response. Just as she thought she would blurt out, the Boss said, “And a seat on the Board of Directors. With stock options. Your performance was not worth a mere recognition with the rest”. 

For once she felt good about having kept quiet.