This is a purely fictional account of a conversation between a mother and her 12-year old son. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Mother (as she put a glass of milk on the study table) : Rohan, you’ve been on the computer for hours now. Shut it off, will you ?
Son (without looking up, fingers punching on the keyboard): Aww mom, just a li’l more time…..puh leeeease….
Mom : Aankhen kharab ho jayengi beta. Anyways, what are you doing on that dumb screen for so long ?
Son : Chatting ….on FB…er, Facebook, Mom
Mom : Facebook again ? Its 6 o’clock in the evening, Rohan. Time for you to go and play downstairs with your friends. Finish your milk and scurry along
Son : Mom, you know I don’t like the guys in the building….they’re not my types…and they tease me no end, I don’t know why
Mom glances at the chat box from the corner of her eyes. Rohan has typed ‘brb…mos’. She struggles to make sense of this.
Mom : Look Rohan, you must go out of the house, get some fresh air, play some games. Get a taste of real things, this is not real…
Son (cutting short) : These are real people Ma, I swear, real flesh and blood….see ? (points to a text message just received, then types in a response, ending with ‘lol’)
Mom (sarcastically): Oh yeah ? How d’you know this is not some stupid machine at the other end of the line ? The words just seem gibberish to me…what is all this ‘ttul’ ? ‘ppl’ ? ‘omg’ ?
Son : Aww, c’mon mom. This is our lingo. Kind of short and sweet, na ?
Mom (visibly aghast) : Sonny, you are ruining your language. This is murder of English. Besides, your class teacher was telling me you haven’t been very attentive in class lately. And you’re kind of aloof. What’s happening ?
Son (sheepish) : Nothing ma. Sometimes a guy just wants to be left alone. I’m ok.
Mom (runs her hand through Rohan’s hair) : Look, you must open up more to people, socialize, make new friends. When I was your age….
Son (interrupting) : But I have lots of friends….in fact 246 of them. Right here, see ?
Mom (looking into Rohan’s eyes, trying not to appear disturbed) : Beta, you can’t have meaningful relationships with such a lot of people. I mean it’s nice to know you’re kind of popular, but true friendships take a lot of time to cultivate. Come to think of it, I had only one or two really good friends at any stage of my life
Son (looking away) : I do have my favorite friends…..
Mom : Then you should be with them more often in person, not through a computer screen. You know, like, face-to-face…not Facebook
Son : I don’t feel the need to be physically present for being friends. Besides, some of them stay so far away. So only way to be in touch with them is through the net
Mom : Beta, but you can only know them truly if you, well, play with them….talk to them. There is a lot of sharing and caring to be done for being friends
Son : That’s what I do Mom….just the way I do it is different from yours
Mom : But you can’t show your emotions in this way of communication, you can’t feel , you can’t express yourself fully, can you ?
Son : Oh yes, I can. See all those smileys here ?
Mom : Hmmm…I just hope you grow out of this fad, beta. Now, just finish your milk, change to some better clothes, and I’ll ask dad to take out the car. We’re going out for a nice li’l drive
Son (sighing) : Ok mom. Just gimme a sec.
Rohan’s fingers fire away on the keyboard, and Mom catches a glimpse of some of the text : ‘gtg…cul’. She shakes her head in resignation.
Post script : The next day, Rohan comes back from school, his hair disheveled, shirt torn and a nasty bruise on his left cheek. He fights back his tears as his startled mom opens her mouth to ask him what happened. Then, instinctively, she throws her arms around her son, and envelops him in her bosom. Rohan weeps silently and clutches his mom tightly into a bear hug. Not a word is uttered.
A minute passes before a reassuring thought crosses the mother’s mind : ‘There is still hope that my boy will grow up to be a fine, sensitive human being’.
Endpiece : Silences make the real conversations between friends. Not the saying but the never needing to say is what counts - Margaret Lee Runbeck
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