Letter to Television

Beloved TV,

Hi! I am extremely ashamed for the delay in writing to you, especially when I have had people literally complain about the relationship you and I share. You were my world of escape from studies, the world of advertisements and cricket, and later the world of everything good a life can possibly entail. You introduced me Wimbledon and The Sarabhais. You have been that compulsive habit of mine to switch on once I entered a room, and flick through the channels.

They say peace can be found at arbitrary places like riverside, seaside, mountainside, shopping mall, bank passbooks, in a child's smile, at the Himalayas, or other possible places like a loved one's arm and at death. I found and keep finding a lot of peace in my loo and by having my own you. It is true, isn't it, that mightiest of warfare have taken place over sharing you? Being wise about the same, one of my initial investments was you. Gosh, was I happy. And peaceful.

My mother no longer complains that she has to live through the same image of two men in white shorts hitting a tennis ball, or that of chunks of meat being marinated and cooked in 'foreign accents'. My father does not become grumpier for having to miss news. I devour you in my preferred way, all the time. I have been. Just the reassuring wallop of accustomed dialogues, or the almost visible wafts of delicious smells off you, made me feel at home, at large.

This year has been different though, sorry. There were bouts of my return to you in the usual unusual routine, but yes, sorry, they were just bouts. I owe you this apology since months now. I have been neglecting you miserably and even neglecting the dust that has layered your screen on which I sometimes finger an alphabet or two. I do not fiddle with the two remotes anymore and they in return, have begun malfunctioning. But what could I do? Too many things took me away from you. No, no, I won't mention them as a pretext of appealing for forgiveness, for I deserve none. You are a life-giver, and I misbehaved in the worst manner possible, by robbing life from you. You should kill me, or I could voluntarily hang myself in shame.

Though you are silent, I know you feel disowned and detached. Though you do not complain, I understand your need for my time and attention. This letter hopes to pacify you and offer you a promise that from the coming year I would try and return to your loving embrace of peace. I have made similar promises to my thesis and my heart and I have no inkling how I would be able to cope up with as many promises, but you can feel safer than the rest because to fulfill my promise to you I do not have 'miles to go before I sleep'.

Infatuated still,

K.