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When I imagine my Facebook wall, I imagine diversity. I imagine a Hindu Extremist screaming for a Temple, I imagine Cricket fanatics fighting over the greatness of Dhoni and Kohli, I imagine a new unfunny Sarcasm post, I imagine my friend’s girlfriend’s feminist and why-you-should-consider-yourself-lucky-if-you-are-a-Bengali posts. I also imagine Shashi Tharoor’s jibes, Kumar Vishwas’s poems, Leonid Afremov’s landscapes, all painting my wall in a mural of diversity. I love variety. I love the whole color palette, and not just one. 

So when everybody went crazy and started sharing sarahah.com posts, it pissed me off. If there’s one thing I hate about social medias, it’s the Indonesian Forest nature of this medium. Light a match and acres shall burn. The diversity of my ecosystem has been compromised because of this godforsaken app. And what does it even do? Well, it lets you message people anonymously. Or so they say. I don’t know why anyone would say anything to anyone anonymously, unless you are discussing Formicophilia or something. Some people say it’ll urge people to confess, but I’d rather stick with the school of thought that says it’ll encourage cyber-bullying. Not because I have really done a case study on this, but because I don’t want it to disrupt my peace. 

From AIB to stupid friends of mine, from hot girls to intellectual ones, everyone’s hooked to sarahah.com. Everyone’s asking everyone to go drop a question and know them inside out. What the hell! 

Recently, I’ve observed this tendency of social medias. The tendency to make things viral, the tendency to make momentary crackerworks. Fire, explode and extinguish. Poof! Right from the sky you drop, a single speck of dust, a tiny grey ash, you float, struggle for flight, yet another ascent, but you only fall…. This is the dark truth of social media, and the only thing it reflects is our nature. The people who’d stick to anything fancy. The people who’d share the same shit over and over and then forget all about it. Of course you can’t keep all the junk inside your mind, but you don’t have to swallow the junk in the first place. 

Ughh. What I’m saying is it’s fine for me if sarahah.com makes you wet in the groin, everybody’s got fetishes, you don’t have to fill my home with those stuffs. Just post your normal bullshitry. Don’t ask me to message you anonymously and ask for something. Because there’s nothing I can’t ask with a face that I can without a face. 

 Alright. I think I should go on a vacation. Damn social medias. 

Tag That Friend 😑

What’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen on social media?

​I was having a good time watching a 90 year old woman talk about Paleolithic cleavers when my phone pinged. And pinged again. And kept pinging as if all it wanted was to replace that godforsaken doll in the next instalment of Anabelle franchise. I picked it up and found my notification toggle flooded with Facebook notifications. Sometimes, technology is more annoying than groin itch. It seemed like my friends had tagged me to a post. Maybe it was related to drawing or something. Or maybe – because I’ve studied commerce for 2 years – GST.

Tag that Friend Who Masturbates 6 times a Day. 

I read from the screen. 


What? 😑
I scrolled down and there I was, among the crowd of people tagged by my friends. It is important to mention here that I have a total of 6 friends. Anyway, there also was this guy I barely know, who I’ve met just twice, and who shamelessly tagged me there as if my Fap counts were displayed every night on CNN IBN. I was kind of pissed off with this guy. More than that, I was pissed off with the post itself and the drastically unemployed, retarded fuck acting as the admin of that page. I thought about his insignificant life, about the time the world would end and he wouldn’t be given a seat in the Ark because he annoyed the hell out of too many people. It felt so good imagining him disappear beneath the cracking earth with a scream I can’t even tell. 

This thing has started to trend these days. It’s become the worst social media epidemic of all time. Every time you log in your news feed is full of posts asking you to tag your friends. Tag that friend who is a dork. Tag that friend who has violet hair. Tag that friend who’d marry Dhinchak Pooja. Tag that friend who’s dead. What the hell.

Recently, I was tagged into this explain GST post as well. I wrote a long essay on GST and tagged all those people who had tagged me. They didn’t even like my post. On one hand, there are people launching hundreds of satellites into the space, on the other, there are dorks whose highest achievement of the day is to tag a friend. This explains why there’s an aggregate IQ deficit in India. Look at Chinese people, you’d never see a Sang-Pung-Ming tagging his friend to such posts, and even if there’s a Sang-Pung-Ming doing so he’d be a Manipuri guy. 

This country needs a serious reform. This country needs to get rid of dumb people. These are the same people who’d spend all day tagging people and then go on to blame the education system, the government and Ekta Kapoor for their miserable life. It just gets on my nerves. This country right now needs an Adolf Hitler more than anything. There’s an urgent necessity for an ethnic cleansing, the ethnic group being the assholes who should not have a Facebook account. 

It’s not just about tagging people, a whole community of educated morons has popped up on social media. These people have rigid opinions with no knowledge to back with. These people take sides and believe that the existence of people on the other side is as fruitless as a pest. If you praise something Modi did, you’re a Bhakt. If you praise Shashi Tharoor, you’re corrupt and maybe you had a part in commonwealth scams. If you admire Manish Shishodia’s works for Delhi, you’re just a retard. And you can’t switch sides. No, sir, never. If you do you’re a whore. If you’ve liked an SRK movie, don’t you dare to praise Bajrangi Bhaijan. If you’re a Kohli fan, get the fuck out of Dhoni camp. These communities keep on clashing on Facebook for no reason. Dhoni and Kohli don’t even give a monkey’s twat about you guys. 

Then they’ll read a stupid blog fuelling their own prejudices and write a verbose blog about Why Gandhi was a Real Villain or Why Men are Real Dicks in Society and How Posting the Photo Of Cleavage on Instagram Empowers Women.  I’m graduating in History hons, people, and you’re a fucking KIITian. I am closer to Gandhi than you are. My entire semesters are dedicated to doing elaborate researches on these personalities. Last semester, I had a whole paper on Ambedkar. So I know if these people were villains or not, because I have spent six months browsing through hundreds of sources to understand them, and not just one random hate post which intensified my personal qualms and so I wrote a post to seek attention where I should have just drawn a pencil sketch of a screw or something instead. 

Then, the extremists. Fuck them as well. Fuck Arnub Goswami. Fuck Arundhati Roy. Fuck Ajay Gautam. Fuck Owaisi. Ugghhh. There are so many people I want to send to Hong Kong on a one way flight. 

I hate social media. I loathe people who tag me. And I dont masturbate 6 times a day. If you really wanted to know. 

Deactivaatttiiiinnnnngggggg

How far does deactivating Facebook account help in healing your wounds?

Deactivating social media accounts is, these days, the primary response to an emotional crisis. Stressed about exams? Deactivate. Got dumped by the girl? Deactivate. Realised nobody cares? Deactivate. Some do it even without any particular reason. Like my friend Atif.

valuewalk.com

My friend Atif loves to deactivate. It’s in the “hobby” section of his resumè. Maybe he’s always emotionally unstable, or maybe nobody has told him about the log out button yet. 

It all started in 2014, when our board exam was knocking at the door. People had quit watching porn and started concentrating on the syllabus. I’d disposed off the DVDs and stopped filling my diary. Atif was still busy scrolling through timelines. 

He deactivated after the result, making a loud, silly resolution – I’m not coming back for the next two years. He also resolved to stop masturbating. 

He failed the XII board exam. 

Those who are in love often do it to express something. Deactivating the account is somehow meant to impart a message to the world. Or else, you could have sulked in silence. 

Then, there are studious guys who visit Facebook on annual basis. They’d update their DP, check a few profiles, wish somebody a happy birthday, and go back to anonymity. Their visits are mostly nocturnal. What’s the point of having an account at all?

I’ve often resorted to this method of social alienation. It doesn’t help in my case. I have a teeming circle of friends up there. Plus, there are hot girls. So, deactivating only aggravates my woes. If somebody pisses me off, I block him. Like this one girl who kept sending me romantic couplets despite my clear resistance. It felt like an assault, and so I blocked her. Then, when I’m sad, I upload a drawing or something. When people like it, I feel happy.

In October 2015, Heroine bet me 500 rupees if I deactivated for a month. I was so excited about the 500 rupee note, I deactivated with a wide smile on my face. I lasted for exactly 14 hours. 

Recently, Atif sent me a friend request. His old id has been permanently deleted. 

“Suggest me a few hot girls. “He said. 

I told him to wait for five minutes and deactivated my account. 

😈😈😈

Trump and Modi

24 hours ago, things were pretty normal. Then, things changed.

Two incidents that bent the course of history. And also, fucked my Facebook wall.

Read on.

The world has witnessed unexpected turns in the past 24 hours. Till yesterday, you could stick a 500 bill at a shopkeeper’s face and he’d have rummaged his arse to provide you a change. Till yesterday, girls announced their contemporary states of emotions every two hours along with pout-selfies, and boys spent their time proposing them in comments-section. Or everybody shared Rajnikant vs. CID Jokes. 

But these 24 hours changed everything. Sensex figures. Purpose of social media existence. And even humanity. 
I had to buy winter clothes, and since I’m exceptionally good at procrastinating I’d stalled it for the day I catch my first cold. I had to get a huge recharge (because Airtel). And I had a few big notes.

 So I’m having a nice time skimming through Sanjeeda Sekh’s hot photos and all at once, the big currency is demonetised. Or whatever. People are silent as furniture, earphones plugged in, listening to radio, their expressions grave and contemplative. In a minute whatsapp inbox floods with messages. People who never cared my whereabouts before are forwarding this ‘urgent’ message and the theme of group chats has suddenly shifted from SEX to corruption and economics. I must be a hollow man, for despite studying economics for 16 hours with Lord Evans in the past 2 years, I don’t have any idea. I feel like the Tribbianis. 

Modi suddenly attained Rajnikant’s status. Jokes and memes and tweets crashed the internet. Stock market went through a rampage. The night promised sleepless hours to many. 

Then came Trumps unexpected victory. The final nail in the coffin. 

thehansindia.com

I woke up at 11 am, and checked my wall. 

“Holy Fuck. “Escaped my throat. People giving shitloads to Americans for letting Trump get a lead in the race. Clinton was behind and Trump was surely grabbing the throne. People were busy comparing this American election with that Bihar election. Every post had something to do with Trump or Modi. It seemed like the only ignorant bastard in the universe was me. I quickly checked Trump and Clinton on Wikipedia. I even brushed up some basic economics. GDP – depr. = NDP stuffs. In a short span, I came to know that currency demonetization is an instrument to curb curruption and counterfeit, and that Abraham Lincoln wasn’t actually the first president of the United States. It was George Washington. 188 cm
I was really surprised to see that people aren’t that stupid or unemployed as I thought they were. They research about presidential elections of United States in their free time. They also know that Donald Trump is Kalki, and he would wipe out humanity. And they are quite aware of Macroeconomics. 
I was full prepared to come up with my status. A super-verbose two liner summing up the two historical incidents. Like something Sehwag would tweet if he had Sidhdhu’s vocab. I couldn’t. And to be honest, it was humiliating to see an endless stream of posts expressing wisdom and superiority and opinion, while not being a participant in the process. 

I mean even Hobo had written that Trump was an arsehole, and that humanity was massacred, and it was 9/11 part 2. And he doesn’t know a fuck about politics. I mean the only thing he likes about America is its pornstars. 
I was about to write one, but then, to be honest again, I seriously don’t have an idea why Americans chose Trump or whether it was good or bad. I mean the biggest intellectual concern in my life right now is chapter 11 of Wuthering Heights, and why Catherine is such a bitch.

 

I don’t know if discounting 1000 bills and issuing 2000 bills will really heal corrupt souls. I don’t know whether Trump would nuke the earth. And I don’t really care. And I won’t pretend either. 

Yeah, so I am the unaware, un-informed, ignorant, selfish citizen who should be exiled. Whatever. 

Could I have stunning selfies on my timeline again, please?

The Normal Days

What else to say about her? You’ll like her. Everybody likes her.

Today, I went for a movie with my lodgemates. I wish I could say I was enamored with Rustom, however, apart from Esha Gupta’s cleavage, there wasn’t much to watch in those monotonous two hours. They have tried hard to make a suspense-thriller-patriotic-also-a-bit-romantic-and-full-of-social-messages-and-trying-to-raise-some-kind-of-inescapable-question-that-requires-introspection movie, however, it’s only the minor characters that remain longer in the mind than Ileana D’Cruz and Esha Gupta and THE PLOT. Anyway, I didn’t mind spending 150 bucks as it gave me another chance to socialise with my lodgemates, who are very different people from what my world would consist of.

Then, I got the wooden foldable chess by courier, and as it turned out, it was a ripoff. The paint has already started to come off. After Mr. Gym Freak tore open the packet, we had a chess marathon and we played like 50 games and I won each of them. By the time it ended, I was bloating with pride. Then, I went out, had junk food, and came back.

I checked FB and there was a message from Doctor. In this world tarnished by selfishness and greed, it’s these messages that give me a reason to calm down and stop cursing everything around me.

Doctor got her ears pierced for the second time, and when I asked her why on earth she did that, she replied very coolly,

“I was experimenting. ”

I wasn’t gala about it, but they are her ears and since nobody can claim a right over those and the rest of her, I decided to not say much. She said it hurt, and I wished I had an ointment that could heal every wound of hers, but that happens only in movies, so I didn’t say anything and we talked about chess instead.

God! One hell of a chess player she is!!!

She beat the daylights out of me in the game we played through alpha-numerical codes. It was like a chess chat, and it felt good. She made a deal that she’d put lots of kohl around her eyes when she meets me if I beat her under 10 moves. A few minutes into the game, and I resigned. She was unstoppable!

“No kohl. “She said. She can be evil sometimes, I tell you.

And then she asked me to write a post about her, so here I am, at 2:38 am, when the whole world is quiet except for Ankit Tiwari, typing words and listening to Tay Hai as mosquitoes pierce my skin and suck blood like I’m a government tanker. Anyway, it’s a nice song.

What else to say about her? You’ll like her. Everybody likes her… She’s like this soft feather that never stops floating, that caresses your skin and brings all your tenderness out, that’s beautiful and delicate. You meet her, you know her and you fall in love with her. Ooops..I almost forget that she’s going to read this…so no further description.

After she wished me a goodnight, I went back to playing chess with my lodgemates. I beat them in every single game.

Exams Ahead

And my uncle said 2016 would be a bright year!!!!

Evetually, CBSE published the much-awaited panic-inducing date sheet for the XII Boards, 2016. Our AISSE exam spans for exactly a month, from the 1st of March to the 31st. Now, Board exams to an Indian student is what a Football world cup is to a Brazilian fan. Excitement. Panic. Fear. Hope. Dreams. All the emotions come whooshing by, like a whirlpool in the kitchen sink. This announcement has once again differentiated the students into two categories. One, who are still on Facebook, and other, who are mugging their asses off.

image

I belong to the former. And so do most of the people I talk to. It’s not as if I didn’t give it a thought, I mean the first thing a sane human being is supposed to do after the announcement of AISSE date sheets is to go to the settings menu and DEACTIVATE, isn’t that? But right when I was about to do it, I saw a beauty contest on one of the pages I’ve liked. And you know, guys, pretty girls are the inherent weakness of a straight male teenager. So, for a second I forgot the date sheet and the urgent necessity to deactivate and I liked their photos and sent friend request to each one of them. I just logged out after that. Deactivation plans cancelled.
Doctor perhaps belongs to some other category. She’s neither on facebook and nor ploughing through the course material. She’s the master of her own destiny. She had deactivated centuries ago, and right now, she’s gorging novels like I’d feast on a Buffett plate. That’s what I like about her. Her cute rebellious attitude.
Anyway, as for me, deactivation won’t help much. I am going to fuck-up big, either way. Fingers crossed. Wish it hurts less.

PS. As if the panic wasn’t awful enough, my mother has slipped further into her fancy-I’m-a-22-year-old-heroine lunacy. She wears dresses and asks me to do photo shoot. I’m afraid she will be cat-walking on the ramps soon. 😐

And my uncle said 2016 would be a bright year!!!!