A story about how one act of goodness sets forth a chain of positive acts.


She was going through her hardest days.

She was surrounded by people she loved but she had decided not to confide in any one of them. She knew they would get very worried and anxious about her. And she did not want to trouble them.

It was not like she was forced to deal with a sudden tragedy, or anything like that. A neutral observer might say the causes of her grief were small. They would add that if she were strong, she could have dealt with and resolved those little issues in no time.

She was under no illusion. She knew her worries were small. She knew her blessings greatly outweighed here troubles. Her head knew all the solutions, but how does one stop the heart from feeling what it feels?

The pain in the heart gnawed into her deeper and deeper and she suffered in silence. No one knew that the bubbly girl with that weird laugh was one who would cry for hours behind locked doors with the Moon being the only witness to her silent tears.  And the days became weeks and the weeks became months and life went on as it always did.

One sleepy afternoon, she had nothing better to do than inattentively scroll down her facebook newsfeed.

She was just about to log out when she noticed that a friend of a friend had “liked” a blog-post which caught her eye.

When she visited the blog, something about it just spoke to her. She somehow felt connected to it.  With every post and every picture, it felt like a warm ray of the sun fell on the cold and unnoticed corners of her soul that was dust- laden and rusty.

She began to follow that blog with a passion. She noticed that the blogger posted only once everyday in a set time. And she looked forward to it expectantly. She liked every post. Some more. Some less. And then, there were those special days when it seemed that the blogger had written the post just for her.

It’s not that the blog drastically changed her life or turned the tables of her fortune. She still had her bad days. She still cried. But the blog posts had a calming influence on her. Knowing that there was someone who would understand her was like a balm to her soul and it kept her afloat…  She still felt the sting of the storm, but she didn’t drown even as the waters rose above her.

But storms, no matter how destructive, eventually do come to an end. Her storms subsided too, and she sensed the dawn of better days.

Yet, she was always grateful to whoever it was who discreetly sat behind a screen and gave her those words of healing. She learnt how powerful an encouraging word can be, and so she made it a point to comfort anyone whom she knew was in pain. She never really cared for the popular ones. Who seemed to have it all sorted out in life. She looked out for the broken ones. And she did what she could- listened to someone who was having a tough day, hugged someone who was homesick, spoke to the ones who went unnoticed by most and smiled at everyone who passed her way.

She had often thought of writing to the anonymous blogger. But she never did. Partly because she was shy and partly because she thought the person wouldn’t need a word of appreciation. This anonymous blogger spoke such wisdom that he or she probably had it all sorted out. And so she never wrote, but remembered the writer in her prayers.

Little did she know that this anonymous blogger was someone who lived not very far from her.  He was an average person. His height was like most people and he had average facial features. The only thing that distinguished him from the rest was a pair of spectacles and scar on his forehead, which he was strangely proud of, caused by a road accident. He had an average degree and had an average job.

And no! He did not have it all sorted in life. He often felt lonely. And he felt miserable at his current station in life.

When he was younger, he dreamt of having a job that would impact many people, and save lives. It tore him inside, every time he sat in that cubicle. This was not what he wanted from life.

When he was a young teenager he was bullied often. And he was made to feel like a loser. At the impressionable age of 13, he was convinced he was good for nothing. But there was one person who stood up for him. That person was 2 years his senior. He was the only one who made him feel like he was worth something. That day he realized how powerful and healing words could be.

Not even for a minute did he ever think that his blog was actually read by anyone. But something told him to keep at it, and he did. That was the end of the matter as far as he was concerned. He would have been very surprised to know that someone ardently waited for his posts every single day. She still did, and she spoke to anyone who was willing to listen, about how a blog kept her going through her roughest phase, and how she learned that there were still good people on this planet who did good not to get recognition, but just for the sake of goodness. She felt it was these anonymous people who kept the planet going. She was lost in her stream of thought when someone tapped her on her shoulder and brought her  back to reality. The first thing she noticed about him was the deep and rather prominent scar on his forehead. He told her that she looked tired and could have his seat since the metro would get really crowded in the next station.

She sat down with relief, but before she could thank him, the doors of the metro were thrown open and a sea of humanity flooded in. He was lost in the crowd. A few stations later, she watched him alight from the metro and never saw him again. As the train sped on, she thought to herself, “Yes, it is indeed the nameless acts of kindness that are often forgotten, which keep the world going.”