Shamoli Majumdar desperately wanted a friend. At 25, she was living alone with her three and a half year old child in Delhi after her husband left for UK. It was a plush rented accommodation in an elite locality and for the first time, she was feeling lonely in her hometown.

Having parents around, in Delhi was a source of relief, but shamoli’s life was like a perfect nightmare as she was unable to meet them often as they lived at a distance.

 How much she craved for someone to talk with.

One late evening, she logged onto to check her email, rather felt like talking to her husband Souvik of the day-to-day happenings. Shamoli a frustrated homemaker in the making, married to an ambitious man, a software engineer working for Tata Consultancy Services (TCS) and most of the time stayed abroad.

Shamoli was extremely disgusted with the turn of events. She anxiously waited to read an e-mail from her better half’s side unfortunately; her hopes were petrified with a dismal feeling of sheer despair. She also checked the spam mails in her inbox, which she hardly did, she was tempted for the first time to get to know the untraced paths for happy homemakers.

With great courage, she visited in one of a friend finder site and finally that lead to several other e-pal web sites, which she found, from a fast search through Google.

She started scanning for girls of her age from different communities and cities.

She was not fussy. She wrote to an Italian, Bengali, a French and a Greek, telling them about her hobbies, her family and the metro city where she breathed anxiety every moment.

Alas! The next day when she checked her mailbox, she felt even bad. She was completely taken aback by the response she got. Most were looking for men and dates. She was unable to read the last mail from the Greek as ‘troy’ Shamoli’s son chose that very moment to throw a tantrum: he switched off the mains twice!

Finally packing him off to school, she found some quality time to read the mail.

This one was no different- she said she would like to make friends only if Shamoli had been a male, as the profile id she had created did not give her gender. Shamoli might have passed up on her mail. Her particulars interested her. Her name was Rashida Hussein. She lived in an apartment, in the center of Cairo and her parents were Professors.

Shamoli considered whether - and how – to respond Finally, Shamoli decided to write back. The profile name she created for that chat room, # SM #, yielded no clue about her sex, so finally she wrote back stating that her name was Souvik….and here it goes.

“She said she was a 27 year old guy, working with a Software firm in dallas US. Her conscience was killing her, but I did so want to make a friend. She replied. Right from the onset, it clicked. She could tell that they shared similar traits, like their stubbornness and moodiness. Gradually, they worked up to discussing issues and problems concerning the world. I asked her about her religion, Islam and soon learnt about Roza, Ramadan, Ramadan and their various festivals and rituals.

Slowly they began exchanging notes. I got a feeling she was showing little more of an interest. She started caring for me. She was feeling good and lost Souvik in time.

The new Souvik, which Shamoli created out of her imaginative mind, was amazing in every way.

She always waited to hear and learn about the traditions and cultures.

One day, out of the blue Rashida send Shamoli her photograph and she stated she had started liking me even more in due course of time. She asked me how I looked and what I was like , several times and I had given her about my height which was a lie in reality   5’10, medium complexion, wear specs, voracious reader, gadget-freak, caring, loving, passionate, practical person sometimes irrational and little moody . My emotional attachment towards Rashida was like a sibling feeling but she dreamt of undefined dreams. Her photograph, gave a feeling that she was beautiful, no doubt. Of course, she expected me to send her a picture of mine, too.

That was the point I had been dreading. Would she forgive me for my lie? Would she understand? I did not know. It had to be done.

I wrote to her back. I also candidly told her why I had hidden my identity from her so far. Shamoli closed the letter with an appeal: we have shared some wonderful moments. Do forgive me if you can. She attached a photograph of hers.

The next two days were pure misery…

On the third day, she replied. Her reply made my day. Joy! Not only she had forgiven me, she had also rewarded me with the highest praise. “It is truly amazing on the World Wide Web, out of millions of people I found a best friend.”

As the years passed, we discussed everything under the sun, from Harry Potter to homosexuality. If I needed advice, Rashida was always there to help. If she wanted to share a secret, it was ‘Shamoli’ the first one she wrote to. The beauty of their relationship was that they accepted each other the way we were. Trust and respect were the foundations of our friendship.

Not once did it matter to me that she was a Muslim and I a Hindu from India. Later on Souvik also knew about the fact of her unique friendship with Rashida Hussein. He laughed and some of our cousins dropped in and marred her with questions like “Isn’t it hard to ask her about sensitive issues like the veil?”

She tells them, “off course not. She is my friend. I can ask, and tell her anything.” For me, asking questions is the first step towards understanding. If we stand back and only wonder, too afraid to ask, then we start to run into problems like ignorance and racism.

Shamoli hopes to land up at Rashida’s doorstep and give her a hug. And I dream of showing her around Delhi. Most of all, I hope other people will learn from my experience and reach out to people from other cultures and lands.

“Although you are a friend,

The innumerable mails we exchange.

I would not know you on the lane, or the dusty streets,

Where I trudge upon it again, and again.

You hold a place with in my life,

Unusual and unique;

We share ideas and weird dreams and still we do not speak.

I picture you now and then; I picture what I think you are.

Perhaps you picture me.

An intriguing game for both of us

For someone we cannot see.

So for this friendship we possess,

We owe this mail a debt,

Perhaps the charm lies in the fact