Two and half years after I started it, I discover that this thing called blog has some practical value after all.
Since morning – on this 16th day of July 2005 when a few million copies of a certain book are being distributed to as many impatient fans across the globe – my dear wife has been in a fidgety mood. She apparently cannot take up anything until the book arrives. I make myself coffee, serve and eat breakfast, and leave for office (it’s Saturday, but I have some work pending). She asks me to check the postbox on my way out – but it is really too early.
An hour later, I get a call from home.
“Are you sure we got the book on the day it was released last time?”
“Yes, my dear. It was a Saturday, and you finished the book that very day, leaving me hungry and alone – don’t you remember?”
“Then why hasn’t it come yet? The post should’ve come by now, isn’t it?”
“It must be on its way.” I reply, “Why don’t you read something else?”
“Thanks. Bye.”
Click.
Half an hour later, another call.
“Your blog is a nightmare to navigate!” she screams.
“What are you looking for?” I ask, perplexed.
“That post you put up two years ago when the last Potter book arrived. I want to know whether it came through Deutsche Post or DHL?”
“And why do you want to know that?”
“Because the Deutsche Post lady has come and gone, and no book arrived! Now tell me how to find your post!!”
Ah! You never thought my time-pass hobby could prove so useful, did you? Who could have imagined that a trivial observation about letters printed on a van could provide relief from my wife’s constant interruptions.
I tell her she only has to add “archives” at the end of the blog url to get access to all the past archives. “And then look for June or July 2003”.
“Okay. Bye!”
Click.
A few minutes later I get a call again:
“You say it was a DHL van, but why haven’t you mentioned the time it arrived, you sloppy writer!!”
I lean back on my chair and laugh. I can afford to do so – I am presently well beyond her reach. When she protests, I tell her I’m sincerely hoping the book arrives soon.
“Why?” She doesn’t believe I could wish anything well on her behalf.
“Because if you receive the book this time, two years later I won’t have to answer questions on how the last book arrived.”
Click.
Next time the phone rings, the tone is louder, happier.
“It’s arrived!” she says, and adds sternly, “Come home soon and make lunch.”
I am back at office now, after a meagerly lunch, while she’s sewn herself to the sofa and dissappeared into the magical world of witches & wizards.
Parmanu 