Telephone

I see you have retired, my old conversation box. But I will never let you go, my friend. Only our yesteryears know what stories lie there in your heart. Countless promises, endless heartbreaks and timeless silences, they are all buried there. And yes, they are beautiful.

Its true, you are replaced today by more sophisticated technologies, less humongous, more smart. But who will ever replace the romance of your mystery. Of identifying that stranger by just a sound. Of imagining a face lighting up by just hearing your voice. Of feeling that tear rolling down between long sighs of silences. Of restless waits for the ring. Of nervous rotations on the dialer. Of ecstatic ‘hellos’. And heartbreaking ‘goodbyes’.

Today you lie there, retired, useless. But I know, you are not dead. When the world is busy somewhere else, I will come to you. I will put my ear to your earpiece and listen once more, the voice, laughters and sobs that I have died to hear for ages now. And I will whisper to your mouthpiece, words that I have chained to my heart for eons.

And even if the world sees us, let it think, we are two old fools busy in our madness. Let them discard us. But we will still have our beautiful stories. Stories that only love could have created and you could have carried. Yes, you will always be special. Rest now, my friend, until we speak again.

Story & Photograph © Arindam Dey

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