Every day for the last few months, at around 9am, my kitchen would be filled with a child's laughter.

The little one, three-year-old Krishna was our househelp Chhaya's son—laughing all the way from Satara, on video call.

THREAD.

Chhaya, before she joined us, worked in Andheri. Thanks to the lockdown she'd been home only once, for four days, since January. That meant in nearly 11 months, she'd met Krishna just once, for four days.

"I miss holding my baby and sleeping next to him," she told me.

2.

"But atleast I have video call."

I'd watch as Chhaya practically raised Krishna on Whatsapp call.

At 9, while slurping poha+'dudu', he'd catch up with his mom—what he was playing, his fights with the neighbor, the chickens they were raising, what he wanted her to bring him.

3.

(Lots of chocolate, always).

At 3.30pm, after she was done packing up lunch, Chhaya would log in to sing to Krishna. Sitting on a balcony ledge she'd softly hum Marathi poems to him. Krishna would watch, sometimes repeat. Sometimes cry, because he couldn't touch his mummy.

4.

Evenings would be hectic, and so Chhaya wouldn't take calls. Later at night, though, before closing kitchen for the day, it would be time for a story. Sleeping on his cot, with only a dim bulb on, Krishna would be a horizontal collection of grains.

5.

But still, very attentive to Chhaya's story.

I'd watch as this Whatsapp call left our home and entered the realm of imagination. Sometimes with fairies who lived on houses of cakes, sometimes in jungles with talking tigers, sometimes with superheroes with crazy powers—

6.

—Chhaya's stories would span various world's and various voices.

After he fell asleep Chhaya would stay on a call for just a little longer. Just watching.

In many ways, Chhaya and Krishna's morning routine felt dystopian—can your mother be a few pixels on a screen?

7.

There were ofcourse days when Krishna would be too distracted to speak to his mom in a screen.

Or days when he'd want to take her on a walk by the river, or cycling—something she couldn't be a part of from inside a screen.

Worse, there were days with bad network.

8.

But even those, were better than nothing—the nothingness that would fill Chhaya's life without video calling.

"I fear he will forget me if he doesn't see me every day," Chhaya once told me. A very real fear, for babies have tiny memories.

But a fear for another day...

9.

Surrounded by the clamour of Twitter and Fake News and one-too-many Zoom calls, it is easy sometimes to forget how wonderful technology has truly been.

How video calls have revolutionised human relations; how cheap, accessible internet has democratised acess.

10.

How every "toxic thing" started as a dream for the better, for everybody.

This Diwali, I hope the world wide web and data connectivity can light up a billion more lives. Whether it's in HD or as a bunch of pixels I hope you can look into someone's eyes and say—I'm here.

FIN.