Near the Bridge Corner

A craggy faced man was sitting on the corner of the main bridge. He was either pondering over life or perhaps just passing his time. His deep-set eyes reminded me of Aurangzeb Alamgir — The 17th century Mughal king of India. I was neither interested in the occult he was speaking nor his crooked beard seemed attractive. In fact, he was a mustachioed man, with a moustache that crossed the right cheek more than the left one. Perhaps, he didn't had time to trim those whiskers, which had subtly convolved with his sideburns. Such facial expressions are more common with Afghans or Iranian, but I think he was neither of them — They don't have such scraggly beards. 

He was sitting with his feet crossed like Siddhartha waiting for Nirvana. I don't know for how long he was sitting there, but his crooked spinal cord had to bear the weight of his flabby stomach that was infinitely curving inwards. His body was thoroughly covered with a conservative, full-length Kameez. Dirty grey strips were the only visible characteristics on his cloths. The greyness was particularly more visible along his bony shoulder lines, while the collar bone was covered by a shabby patch of blue-black checkered stitch.

His hands were empty — emptiness analogous to the emptiness of the universe. A wooden Tasbeeh decorated his seamed, old hands. It circled his left thumb and traversed from the left palm to the space between his index and middle figures. Will this be a blasphemy to place a Tasbeeh in such a position? I don't know, and — probably, even the man didn't know about this. 

His head was covered by a long sheet of bordered white cloth. The hair weren't much visible, but my instinctive feeling is that he was bald. His forehead covered a major part of his face and seemingly hid behind the cloth piece before making a single hair visible to foreign eyes.

A giddy, veiled young lady passed by the old and gave him some coins. One of the coin fell through the gap between the index and middle finger before finally reaching the ground. The coin spun for a few seconds — gradually moving away from the old man — before it lost its momentum. The old man straightened his spinal cord. He tried to reach out for the coin, but suddenly a roaring, shrilling white car passed over the coin, shooting it miles away from the grab of the old man.

The man again said some occults.

He again went in his natural state of achieving Nirvana, and his ad infinitum wait yet again started.

And the post got deleted!!

The dead sea scrolls were a click away, but yet again, the devil intervened. 

How does it feel when you delete a post that you wrote in three hours? It feels absolutely bizarre! What's more, it just happen with me today!

I wrote a long post about the case of polio being registered in Egypt. According to authorities, the virus was transmitted from Pakistan. I discussed the root causes of polio in this country, and how unchecked religious extremists are killing lady health workers for saving our children from this curse. Unfortunately, it's all history. Maybe I'll write it gain in a few days!

After this little digression, I return to my real topic again. How the heck did this happen! I was checking spelling mistakes in my post on my mobile phone. The screen was extremely small, and I had to zoom in and out back and forth. Moreover, it wasn't possible to read what's written in portrait mode, so I had to change the orientation to landscape. But the catch was, it was impossible to type in the landscape mode as 60% of the screen was occupied by the stupid android keyboard. So I had to continuously change mobile orientation.

You can feel how much headache I was taking to simply remove a bunch of typos. It was more like finding an enemy target through a complex orientation and zooming! It took 30 to 40 seconds to reach the desired word, and just a single second to lose it again! Hence, quadrupling my self-created headache.

But like in all war, a single mistake can prove disastrous! I'm the finest empirical proof of this cliché. As I was changing the zoom level of my screen, I mistakenly pressed the main screen for a fraction of a second. This action selected all the written text on my blog, and in haste I pressed the backspace button on the stupid android keyboard! After two seconds, the blogger application automatically saved the blank post. The result: A completely blank post, without even leaving a beacon of proof that it was ever written!.

A hungry man will try to search something to keep him alive, even if it's the flesh of his friend's cadaver! Just like him, I tried to find out a way to resurrect my three hours of work. I hurriedly pressed the undo button on the blogger toolbar. To my surprise it didn't work. I pressed it again and again, just hoping for a miracle to happen and my deleted text somehow comes back. Unfortunately, miracles don't happen with me. The text was lost forever. 

I searched on goggle on how to retrieve the 'last saved copy' of my blog. Not a single piece of help was available. Then I opened my browser's history, and saw a ray of light! I could see the title of the preview page on the history list. The dead sea scrolls were a click away, but yet again, the devil intervened. When I pressed the preview page link, the following window popped out:

The ship was drowning, and the captain could only wait for the death to takeover. I felt something of this like. With all these billions and billions web pages, millions of technology experts, thousands of retrieval applications, I was still unable to recover my work. In was lost into the oblivion of the black hole. 

Maybe, after a thousand years or so, someday people at Google might be able to retrieve my literature. But till that day, I can say, that Blogspot seriously has a big flaw!