Echoes of connection: “The dance of words in a digital age”

New Delhi [India], March 15 (ANI): There is a certain cadence to the way messages travel in this world. They begin as a whisper of thought, an echo of memory, a ripple in the ever-expanding sea of connection. They are sent out like birds from the soul, little emissaries carrying stories, ideas, musings–seeking a place to land. I have sent thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands over the years, my words making their way across continents, crossing rivers and ranges, arriving on doorsteps in the dead of night or the first blush of morning. And in return, sometimes–sometimes–a reply arrives, a feather falling back into my outstretched palm.

I have been sending these messages since 1993. Back when letters had weight and ink bled into paper, when words were bound by envelopes and time zones, when anticipation curled in the chest like a cat before sleep. Back when a reply was a thing of patience, when distance had meaning, when waiting was a lesson in restraint. And now, in the electric heartbeat of the modern world, my words arrive in an instant. A message sent, a message received. A thought shared, a connection made. A tether, however thin, linking one life to another.

Sixteen thousand souls rest in the palm of my hand. Sixteen thousand names, numbers, lives, each a constellation of memories, encounters, stories interwoven with mine. They have come into my orbit across the decades–some fleetingly, some permanently, some in ways neither of us could have predicted. And so I write. Three times a week, sometimes four. Sometimes only once, when the words need to simmer before they are poured. I send them out, these pieces of myself, not to sell, not to persuade, not to push an agenda or claim space in someone’s mind–but simply to share. Simply to say: I am here, and this is what I am thinking. What are you thinking?

This column comes to you as I mull over broadcast lists in my head. A very dear friend asked, Why do you send these cold messages? And my answer was, because people ask me to. Because people want. The majority requests. The majority demands. The majority is hungry. And yet the question raised asked me to question myself. Is there a silent majority that doesn’t want but isn’t speaking up? That finds this intrusive and is bothered by it? Will they ever tell me? And so I write this column. There must be others like me who write, who share, who feel obligated to share, because there’s a majority of people asking them to do so. And yet there may be a silent majority in their lives too, that don’t want this sharing, that would rather not see it, and yet stay silent. And so this column takes you through my thought process, my questioning, what I’m battling within about broadcast lists.

Not every message finds its mark. Some disappear into the void, unread, unnoticed. Others land with quiet appreciation, the reader nodding in the dark, never feeling the need to respond. But every so often, like the call of an old friend across a crowded room, a reply arrives. And there is something beautiful in that–something in the way that, once in a while, a message stirs someone enough to write back, to acknowledge, to reciprocate. “I’ve been reading every word,” they say, “though I never reply.” And that, too, is enough.

And yet, the conundrum. The digital dilemma. The question that lingers in the space between sender and receiver. How much is too much? When does a message become a murmur in the wind, and when does it become noise? I send these words not as an obligation, not as an imposition, but as an offering. But not all offerings are welcome, and not all doors remain open. Sometimes, a message is met with silence. Sometimes, it is met with the quiet request: Please remove me. And that is fair. That is more than fair. Life moves, changes, evolves. Attention shifts. Priorities realign. A voice that once resonated now grates. A connection that once mattered now recedes into the background of a changing life.

And as I finish writing this column, as I tell you about the dance of words, the exchange of thoughts, and I question whether we are moving in step or stepping away as the music plays on of our digital imagination linking us to each other’s real imagination. I also wonder, are my messages cold? They’re written with warmth, they’re shared with sincerity, they’re communicated with good intent. I won’t say noble, I’m not noble, but my intentions could be noble too, because they don’t come with any mal-intent. Could such a message actually be cold, or are we only perceiving them as cold? Should we be adapting in this digital age to communication that comes with good intention, arrives perhaps without our demand, but is no less noble than those that we request?

Because in the non-digital world, we are bombarded with sounds, with emotions, with affection, with intrusions, with noise, with clutter, 24-7, 365, lifelong, without our demanding it. And yet, we remain feeling warm, we carry on, we have nobody to fight, or we do. But these are our loved ones, these are people we brought into our world, who rattle us, battle us, shatter us, most unexpectedly and non-stop. But we can’t tell them they’re sending us cold messages. There’s a relationship established with clarity. And so, as we dive deep into the digital age, should we be questioning this? Should we be understanding there are nuanced layers, sophistry, interpretation, warmth, in these messages, or am I crazy?

If you read this message, this column, if I’ve been a lucky man to have you on my broadcast list, that means I’m lucky enough that you’ve touched my life. I will hope that you will message me if you want to be removed without fear. And those of you reading who are on broadcast lists of others, give a gift to yourself of speaking up and letting the person on your broadcast list messaging you know that you appreciate their messages or that you would like to be removed. I think that’s the air ticket, and it’s good enough, at least for now.

This is the dance of words. This is the exchange of thoughts. And whether we are moving in step or stepping away, the music plays on.