Very early in my great career of a lengthy six months in the world of verse, I found myself navigating the complexities of meter, form, rhyme, lyrics, alliteration, symbolism, layering, imagery, metaphor, hyperbole, and so on. (Unless I use these terms, how can I convey that I know them!) I quickly realized that the best way to make your presence felt and get your poems reviewed—ideally with great ratings—was to become a fan of as many reasonably good writers as possible and give them glowing reviews. Invariably, most of them would oblige, become your fan, and give your poems undeservedly good ratings. See my trick?

Though this is true to some extent, you cannot fool everyone, and a piece of trash is likely to be treated as such. If you are lucky and the other person is generous, you might get a moderate rating. I just wanted to exaggerate how peer ratings could be manipulated. But anyway, professional reviewers will blast you if needed.

I did register as a fan of some genuinely good poets and some aspiring ones, just to encourage them.

Here are some interesting characters I "met" on the platform:

- A British lady who was an expert in internal rhyming and suggested some good books for me.

- A lady originally from Russia who wrote many acrostic poems.

- An Irish grand old lady who was brilliant with rhyme, meter, and rhythm. We became close friends. Though she had her own misfortunes, when she learned that I was visually impaired, she sent me a St. Theresa medallion, duly sanctified in the church, and also a large-printed copy of a collection of her poems. When I decided to leave the site in preparation for a surgery, she wrote a poem in my honor. Without sounding even distantly modest, her first few lines were like this: "When we think of India, we are reminded of the Himalayas and Suresh." This is just to show the affection these people displayed.

In this universe, some didn't even post their photographs. There was no pre-judgment. You could be a miser or a donor, a crook or a cop, black, brown, or white, great or not so, educated or an eleventh fail—none of it mattered. You were just another, more than equal, individual, demanding and getting the same dose of respect, recognition, and response. What genre you wrote in didn't matter—be it themes of gay love, violence, intrigue, or anger. It was art, and you were expressing your take on things poetically.

That's why I loved this generous, kind, understanding, and appreciative space. I never came across anyone whom I found to be unsocial, offensive, incorrect, ill-behaved, or offensive. Occasionally, someone might offer carping criticism of your writing, but that was just their view. And the same person might give you a wonderful review for the next poem. Opinions, ideas, and views about any person were not collected, stored, or memorized to be used later as judgment.

To be continued... 22. Parallel Universe - Digitally Speaking - Part 4