Shadows of shadows

While I was logging in into this account of mine, a sudden thought struck me. I am still using my very first alias as username and I still have my very first password intact for this particular account. When I first created this alias, I just needed some letters to fill the space. Even then I had promised myself that later someday I’ll sit and christen myself an alluring identity. But midst of all the haphazardness of pompous daily chores, years choose to move ahead without intimating me about their voyage through time. So much sand has slipped through hourglass now that my temporary alias has become more of me than me myself. I used this alias to be a guy once and I wrote a poem for one of my unknown muse. She liked it and I was content. I used this alias to be the part of magical world on internet; it helped me in being confident. It acted as an ailment to my shyness. It made me realize that I can be so much more than what I was, I am. I always used to see myself as a crazy scientist who has this secret laboratory where she is working on her Frankenstein. Beyond the boundaries of good or evil this was going to be her greatest works. The silver veil of mystery is the only shining evidence of its promised brilliance. Now to think of it, I can see that work taking shape, shape of a crass personality, my alias.

Did I talk about my password to you? I have changed several of them so far. But most of the time I just keep juggling with the same words. Mixing and matching them with spaces and caps. Exploiting the treacherousness of thesaurus to mold my character in the black pixels sprayed tactfully on the textboxes. Though they mean something different each time for everyone but they look alike always, as asterisk. The only one thing that you can be assured of is the numbers of characters. Though there have been a number of them in my case but the pattern always remained same. As if it always was a window to my alter ego on that page from history.

At times you read those blogs or may be those novels with thousands of pages just to find out that there wasn’t any story in those so verbosely written paragraphs. Then when you check your heart you are astonished to find that instead of disappointment for the lack of a story, there is a weightless happy feeling inside you same as you once experienced when you first got introduced to your share of ocean. May be at times you just don’t require a plot to write your story because your story just IS.