If you are not aware of the current Indiblogger contest on We Chat, then you should be. Its a lot of fun, has amazing prizes, and asks a simple question – “If you could connect with five or more people in a WeChat group – who would they be, and why? What would you talk about? They can be friends, family, dead, alive or even fictional.”

Almost immediately, my mother started to rib me to get married. In India, a woman, approaching thirty, and is single, quite happily, is seen as a social misfit. My mother has never wanted me to be a misfit, so she decided to take the opportunity to get me married off. I was contemplating majorly about the kind of men I would want to add, but given my proclivity towards adventure, I decided to add five men who I could choose from.

As per the instructions, I decided to get on We Chat and find myself my true love. I added a few people on my We Chat group, and decided to let things flow that way. After adding myself, I proceeded to add Ranbir Kapoor, because he is exactly a year older than me (and therefore, very much available till he ties the knot),  John Keats (because really… what woman can resist a cute poet?), Robin Hood (who doesn’t like men in tight pants hopping around jungles taking money from the rich and distributing it to the poor), Nicola Tesla (for really, he was the coolest man, ever!), and Lord Shiva (because he is absolutely great, smokes up, has weird pets, wears dreadlocks and tattoos and is super cool, plus considered to be the ideal husband by most Indian women … ahem).

After my choices were put in front of my mother, she fainted for a few seconds after seeing them, but told me to NEVER look at Lord Shiva from any other angle but that of a devotee, or I will surely incur the WRATH of PARVATI (ouch!! that is not just seven years, but probably seven births’ worth of bad luck). Then she told me how most actors were faithless, scientists would never give me time because they will always be buried under work, and men who were criminals would have the law knocking at the door. I was quite happy that she was leaving Keats alone. At least, it was a good poet versus a non-poetic me.

However, as my conversation started on We Chat, I realized that his words were all garbled. Then I realized, that the poor man, dying from consumption (Tuberculosis for those who are uninitiated), was unable to type normally, since he was coughing up blood.

Naturally, after that, I stick to normal, not so famous, and probably not dead, people. And that is a relief. 

Written by Poorna Banerjee

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