Anita Shirodkar's Blog

Writing, and for that matter reading, has taken on a whole new meaning in these cyber-centric times. Who had heard of blogging, kindle and twitter a few short years ago? And how did writing get to be known as ‘content’? But here we are, wholly immersed in the world of micro and instant everything, and sometimes I wonder if the next generation will have the patience or the attention span to actually read a book from cover to cover. Hopefully, this reflection will not deter writers of books- I think it would be a great pity for people, kids and adults alike, to be deprived of reading a novel, in the good old-fashioned way that I used to!
The unforgettable taste of nankhatai biscuits dipped in chocolate milk and hot summer afternoons spent under the shade of the big banyan tree in the garden in front of my house are the two unforgettable memories I associate with being transported into the exciting world of make-believe. Summer holidays were the time to devour books, and when I was young, these were mainly obtained from circulating libraries; not for us was the luxury of brand new books with their inimitable fresh papery scent! We were frugal then, even though we didn’t know rainforests would be severely depleted one day. But there was something to be said for well-worn, much thumbed editions that came my way- they were like old, comforting friends with which to while the long, TV and laptop-less hours away.
I remember being held in thrall by adventures of the quintessential English children who solved mysteries, got themselves in and out of scrapes, outwitted the bad guys with aplomb, went to the most exciting schools and yes, ate exotic sounding things like macaroons, potted meat sandwiches and hot, buttered scones (remember, I’m talking sixties here, and all these delicacies had not yet made their way to India!). What wouldn’t I have given to go to school at Mallory Towers, or sail a boat to a forbidden island. And reading made all that possible-with the added bonus of learning something new every day. At some inspired point at the age of eight, I even decided to concoct a little story of my own, replete with smugglers, intrepid children, lost treasure, and of course, a loyal dog who thumped his tail and stole bacon off his owner’s plate at regular intervals. This was written laboriously in a small notebook with a grubby pencil in largely illegible handwriting; it was a good ‘time-pass’ activity, but fortunately no one really read it besides me! I still remember the line I considered my masterpiece: it went something like this. ‘In the cold, damp darkness of the cave, Susie heard complete silence for the first time in her life, and she suddenly understood the meaning of real fear.” How pleased I was with my turn of phrase!
As I grew up, my passion and fascination with books continued, but I studied art rather than literature, and became a graphic designer. Oddly, given my avid preoccupation with reading, I’ve never actually studied literature. How to critique a piece of writing, or even how to analyse it, how to recognise a theme or a motif were things that were not in my realm…. until my kids were in high school studying in the IB system, and I was exposed to writing in the technical sense. I guess kids going to school pretty much like going back to school yourself; I suddenly developed an appetite for European history through the World Wars, and discovered the existence of Bunraku, a traditional Japanese form of puppetry, and something intriguingly esoteric called the Theory of Knowledge. Wow. All in all, the name of the game was reading everything I could get my hands on. And all of a sudden education took on a new meaning!
Though I learnt how to analyse a piece of writing through all this back to school business, the actual writing didn’t come till a bit later. Working with writers and creative people for twenty plus years, the lines between art and copy began to blur over time, and I began to write as well- at first, advertising copy and later, I began writing travel content for my husband’s destination management company. That moved me on to food content for various platforms. The next step, seamlessly, was clearly a novel. I’m not sure how and when the bright idea dawned; unlike my new protagonist Simran, writing a novel was not some burning desire that I had cherished.
‘Secrets and Second Chances happened over a period of six months, and once I had a manuscript, I held on to it for another year without actually doing anything! Call it fear of rejection, doubts about its viability, the terror of unleashing such a personal part of me onto an unsuspecting public, whatever. I finally decided to send it to a couple of trusted friends to read, and then everything took off from there. The acceptance of my manuscript by three publishers in a very short space of time (thanks to a canny literary agent) was quite gratifying, and it looked like I was all set. However, the process of writing and getting published, I discovered, was way simpler than actually selling the book. I somewhat naïvely believed that once the book was published, I was home free… no one told me about promotion, publicity, launch events and book tours.
 “You have to put yourself out there,” said the ones in the know, nodding wisely. “How will anyone know you’ve written a book unless you tell them about it?”
Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, the idea that my book would be marketed by the publisher while I sat back and basked in my achievement was banished rudely. I had to, literally speaking, wake up and smell the coffee, and get my act together. One lives and learns, as the adage goes, and when ‘Nights in Pink Satin’ was published, I was ready. Well, kind of. And eventually, the effort is worth it because I do want as many people as possible to read the work that I have so enjoyed creating! Nights in Pink Satin is feisty and fun, a racy light read and I have received amazing response from everyone who has read it- including my 85 year old father who devoured the book in a day, and loved the story and the characters. I had so much fun writing the book that I truly hope it brings as much joy to my readers.
I’m now well into my third novel, enjoying the process as much as ever. I relish the way everyday incidents, chance meetings with people and the odd remark overheard in a movie theatre can morph into inspiration of the best kind. I’m often asked about my penchant for writing stories based in metro cities; my answer to that is, it’s what I see around me, and what I know well. It’s a world I’m comfortable in, and it comes naturally to me.

Given the generation I come from, I’m not unnaturally a little obsessed with using idiomatically correct English. But I’m quickly coming to the conclusion that it’s much more fun to delve into a dictionary that is bombarded everyday with more interesting vocabulary than it knows how to deal with.  
My contemporaries are no strangers to slang- after all we too had our foray into enriching the oxford dictionary. We were the eighties hipsters, who grooved at discos (is there anything like a disco anymore? Everyone seems to go clubbing instead!) with guys we called far out, dreamy and hunky. And when the going got rough, we could always take a chill pill.  We were the cool dudes and dudettes; would we be seen dead with a dork? As if!
It doesn’t come as that much of a surprise that young people today are exponentially more creative than my generation in creating tantalizingly incomprehensible slang and coining new words out of nothing. As parents of grown kids, it’s inevitable that one gets dragged into the sticky sea of unintelligible acronyms, especially if you want to understand what’s happening online these days (I have two deliciously uninitiated friends who believed, till recently, that LOL meant Love You Loads). But if you think that by knowing acronyms like FOMO, YOLO, BFF, NBF,TTYL AND ROTFL you’re in the game, forget it… that’s so last year, dude. You need to savvy up on trending hashtalk, and remain on fleek if you want to be part of the squad.
Take the simple case of determining your sexuality. There was a time when you were either heterosexual or homosexual. Perhaps, if you were adventurous, you would be bisexual. Or if you weren’t that lucky, just asexual. In today’s virtual smorgasbord, you have an infinitely more intriguing playing field. Take your pick from pansexual, polysexual, omnisexual, narcisexual. If you don’t fancy those, my new discoveries are sapiosexual and insipiosexual. Apart from your actual sexuality, your look and personality can also be described, - how do you feel about metrosexual?  But that’s old hat - if you’re more with it, there’s always lumbersexual!
Language by its very nature stems from the culture it develops in, and culture all over the globe is becoming homogenised rapidly. The ubiquitous jean clad slang spouting twenty-something has been around for a while now in almost every corner of the globe, but is now seamlessly cyber-unified with his or her peers through the far reaching tentacles of the World Wide Web. Here are a few of my favourite new entries into the new words space, trending online in 2015… maybe some of them have yet to make their way to Indian shores, but they will soon, fo shiz, dude.
Turnt UpInspired by a song called So Turnt Up by Wiz Khalifa and Juicy J, this coined phrase implies going crazy at a party or a club, generally under an extremely deep influence of alcohol. “I’m totes getting turnt up tonight at Tryst!”
FleekThis one was originally used by a girl who uploaded a Vine video stating that her eyebrow were on fleek. And just like that, a word was born!  Basically, something being on fleek means that it is on point, or looking perfect. “Damn that girl, how does she manage to always be on fleek?”
BAEI have it on the authority of the World Wide Web that the most trending slang word of the year is bae, which is an affectionate form of babe but mainly it’s an acronym for before anyone else. “Shahrukh’s totally my bae, Salman doesn’t stand a chance!”
ThirstyNo, it’s doesn’t have anything to do with a chilled beer, or any beverage at all. It refers to someone’s desperation, or over-eagerness. “Babe, she called me four times to have lunch with her, how thirsty can she get!”
YaassssHilarious. Apparently, an alternative way to say “yes” with aggravated gusto. Use it to put your full weight behind something or someone, and clap loudly for emphasis!
Norm CoreI love this one, and learned it from a trendy young woman in the fashion space. It combines normaland hardcore in reference to a unisex fashion trend, characterized by unpretentious, average-looking clothing which is really anti-fashion, and describes classic, normal clothing as an antidote to hipster chic. Normcore dressers are, in a nutshell, fashionably unfashionable.
WCW NOT World Championship Wrestling! This is far cooler- it stands for womancrushwednesday… bully for woman power!  Both male and female Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and Tumblr users are part of this weekly trend, obviously peaking on Wednesdays. You share a picture of your favourite woman crush. It could be a celebrity, an icon, a love interest or a BFF. Sweet. A neat way of acknowledging the women in your life! Having said that, there’s also something called mancrushmonday- go figure!
FungryTotes simple, bro. It just means that you’re F***ing Hungry!
LumbersexualForget about being metrosexual, this guy has much more swagg. Coined by GearJunkie.com, a lumbersexual is a man who looks like he belongs in a log cabin in the woods, but is in fact a city animal with an enviable income. You think his backpack carries a lumberjack’s axe, but it actually contains a MacBook Air. He looks like the rugged, outdoorsy type, but is dressed with style, grooming and care. Think checked shirts and sleek leather jackets. Basically, a well-dressed man with a fabulous, well-trimmed beard. Ben Affleck, anyone?
SapiosexualSomeone who thinks that intelligence is the most sexually attractive feature. Someone who wants analytical discussion as foreplay. In a nutshell, aroused by intelligence. Consider yourself a sapiosexual if you prefer Arundhati Roy to Katrina Kaif!
InsipiosexualQuite the opposite of the above; someone attracted primarily to fools. Srlsy!
With all this and more jostling for space on a plethora social media platforms, how do you know what’s in and what’s not? Trending hashtags, of course!  It doesn’t take much ingenuity to guess that #lovewins is pretty much on top right now, along with winners like #wowfacta, #singlebecause #selfie and #followme. All those out there with their very latest phones, phablets and tablets will know that words like photobomb, derp, sext and noob originated on the internet and created enough impact (meaning they went absolutely cray cray) to end up in the Oxford dictionary. It’s a good thing it’s available online, or they would be re-printing that dictionary faster than you could say OMG!

As someone who spends half a year in Dubai, I'm often called upon to defend my choice of second home to the critics who cry mall culture, no soul, police state and terrible weather. As I write, I admit the temperature outside is soaring into the mid forties, and my exercise option for covering those 10000 steps (though I manage only about 8000, not more!) tends to be walking in the air-conditioned retail vastness of Dubai Mall. But that's only because I'm not the treadmill type. There are plenty of perfectly intimidating gyms around me. Also, there's a lot to be said for retail therapy of the window watching type. What better exercise encouragement than those impossibly undernourished mannequins clad in Herve Leger bandage dresses? Or those athletic figures diving down the waterfall? Although given the nature of Dubai's mall culture, one has to turn a resolute blind nose to the delicious aromas wafting from PappaRoti and Cinnabon.



When I first came to Dubai as a new bride in the mid eighties, it was not a cool place to be. Apparently, I was nuts; giving up a completely glamorous job as an Art Director in one of the hottest ad agencies of the time, living in the sand dunes and hobnobbing with the riff-raff. In those days, the SRK's and the Bacchhans didn't have homes here. There was no Palm, Dubai Mall wasn't built and the Burj Khalifa not even thought of. Dubai was, as far as Indians went, an extension of the Malabar Coast, the residents of Kerala having made it Their Own Country. All of this was fine with me- I continued with my art directorial career, admittedly in slightly less glamorous surroundings than I was used to. I'm a little hazy about when the perception of Dubai changed, but change it did. A slow but sure trickle of advertising people I knew (pretty much the same ones who'd called me nuts before) began to filter into Dubai, many asking my well connected husband for help finding jobs. That was roughly when we moved back to India.

I'm back in Dubai now after a break of twenty-plus years, and amazingly, it has morphed into a glitzy, vibrant, cosmopolitan city that I'm very comfortable calling home. From my front lawn, I have a clear vision of the tallest building in the world, its steel and glass magnificence proudly glittering in the night sky. It is incredibly hypnotic, watching this imposing edifice every night. And every night, a crowd gathers at the artificial lake below the Burj to watch Dubai's dancing fountains- bigger, grander and prettier than the ones at the Bellagio in Vegas.



It's true that everything in Dubai is bigger, shiner, glitzier. (Move over, Shanghai.) That's largely because it's such a new city, and everything is built state-of-the-art. Built with a vision, too- here's a city that's actually been planned, instead of mushrooming haphazardly all over the place. The appearance, almost overnight, of a fun stretch of Al Wasl that has been named Box Park was a happy surprise; it's right opposite where I live. With edgy colours and single storey shops and restaurants made with brightly painted containers, Box Park has once again brought a new dimension to the cityscape. As will the ambitious 545 million dollar canal project that is currently taking shape at Safa Park- we are expecting our own version of Ponte Vecchio in the near future. With, I should add, little or no inconvenience to commuters- something which we as Indians know very little about!

But all that glitz and shine is just one part of it. What I'm truly fascinated by in Dubai is how so many nationalities manage to live together without treading on each others toes. Everybody minds their own business, and all of us feel at home here. The Indian community makes Dubai its own, simply by taking the attitude that Dubai is the cleanest, most liveable city in India. You'll find everything from idlis at Saravana Bhavan and chaat at Puranmals to anarkalis at Meena Bazar and incredible soul food at Calicut Paragon. Many taxi drivers and supermarket staff speak Hindi, and many Indians living here bring in domestic help from India. Living in Dubai is, quite simply, like living in what we would like India to be.

The Europeans and Americans have made Dubai their own in a way only they know how- expat societies, English pub culture, golf courses, sailing clubs and water sports. And it's all very easily accessible, maybe more so than what they can expect back home. World class restaurants and hotels, resorts, nightclubs, bars, fabulous homes, beaches, marinas, concerts, Art Dubai, the Dubai Litfest, The Dubai International Film Fest and so much more... there is something here for every taste and nationality.



This is not meant to be a tourist guide to Dubai. It's a take on why so many people from across 200 countries choose to make Dubai their home. New York, London, Toronto are all melting pots of culture, but in Dubai it's a melting pot of nationalities as well as cultures. The expats here are still citizens of their own respective countries. The local Emirati population is estimated at less than 15 percent; the rest are all expatriates from all over the world. On an average working day I would have interacted with people from India, Nepal, the Phillipines, Egypt, Pakistan, the UK, Kenya, the USA, maybe Syria, Lebanon and of course local Emiratis. And if I've done the mall walk, I'd have chatted with a Russian sales girl in Russian, been served black coffee by a Croatian man and accepted a paper strip sprayed with a new perfume from a Nigerian girl. I'd have seen a leggy European woman dressed in the shortest of shorts with a strappy tee, and an Emirati woman covered in her abaya, with only her perfectly made up alabaster face shown to the world. Both equally beautiful, both equally at home. How can all this not make people more tolerant and accepting of what's different?

So I rest my case... I am happy to wait for the winter chill to set in, (Dubai weather is lovely for at least six months of the year) sit back in my garden chair, and watch the twinkling lights on the top of the Burj grow brighter as the evening grows darker.

As someone who spends half a year in Dubai, I'm often called upon to defend my choice of second home to the critics who cry mall culture, no soul, police state and terrible weather. As I write, I admit the temperature outside is soaring into the mid forties, and my exercise option for covering those 10000 steps (though I manage only about 8000, not more!) tends to be walking in the air-conditioned retail vastness of Dubai Mall. But that's only because I'm not the treadmill type. There are plenty of perfectly intimidating gyms around me. Also, there's a lot to be said for retail therapy of the window watching type. What better exercise encouragement than those impossibly undernourished mannequins clad in Herve Leger bandage dresses? Or those athletic figures diving down the waterfall? Although given the nature of Dubai's mall culture, one has to turn a resolute blind nose to the delicious aromas wafting from PappaRoti and Cinnabon.

When I first came to Dubai as a new bride in the mid eighties, it was not a cool place to be. Apparently, I was nuts; giving up a completely glamorous job as an Art Director in one of the hottest ad agencies of the time, living in the sand dunes and hobnobbing with the riff-raff. In those days, the SRK's and the Bacchhans didn't have homes here. There was no Palm, Dubai Mall wasn't built and the Burj Khalifa not even thought of. Dubai was, as far as Indians went, an extension of the Malabar Coast, the residents of Kerala having made it Their Own Country. All of this was fine with me- I continued with my art directorial career, admittedly in slightly less glamorous surroundings than I was used to. I'm a little hazy about when the perception of Dubai changed, but change it did. A slow but sure trickle of advertising people I knew (pretty much the same ones who'd called me nuts before) began to filter into Dubai, many asking my well connected husband for help finding jobs. That was roughly when we moved back to India.
I'm back in Dubai now after a break of twenty-plus years, and amazingly, it has morphed into a glitzy, vibrant, cosmopolitan city that I'm very comfortable calling home. From my front lawn, I have a clear vision of the tallest building in the world, its steel and glass magnificence proudly glittering in the night sky. It is incredibly hypnotic, watching this imposing edifice every night. And every night, a crowd gathers at the artificial lake below the Burj to watch Dubai's dancing fountains- bigger, grander and prettier than the ones at the Bellagio in Vegas.

It's true that everything in Dubai is bigger, shiner, glitzier. (Move over, Shanghai.) That's largely because it's such a new city, and everything is built state-of-the-art. Built with a vision, too- here's a city that's actually been planned, instead of mushrooming haphazardly all over the place. The appearance, almost overnight, of a fun stretch of Al Wasl that has been named Box Park was a happy surprise; it's right opposite where I live. With edgy colours and single storey shops and restaurants made with brightly painted containers, Box Park has once again brought a new dimension to the cityscape. As will the ambitious 545 million dollar canal project that is currently taking shape at Safa Park- we are expecting our own version of Ponte Vecchio in the near future. With, I should add, little or no inconvenience to commuters- something which we as Indians know very little about!
But all that glitz and shine is just one part of it. What I'm truly fascinated by in Dubai is how so many nationalities manage to live together without treading on each others toes. Everybody minds their own business, and all of us feel at home here. The Indian community makes Dubai its own, simply by taking the attitude that Dubai is the cleanest, most liveable city in India. You'll find everything from idlis at Saravana Bhavan and chaat at Puranmals to anarkalis at Meena Bazar and incredible soul food at Calicut Paragon. Many taxi drivers and supermarket staff speak Hindi, and many Indians living here bring in domestic help from India. Living in Dubai is, quite simply, like living in what we would like India to be.
The Europeans and Americans have made Dubai their own in a way only they know how- expat societies, English pub culture, golf courses, sailing clubs and water sports. And it's all very easily accessible, maybe more so than what they can expect back home. World class restaurants and hotels, resorts, nightclubs, bars, fabulous homes, beaches, marinas, concerts, Art Dubai, the Dubai Litfest, The Dubai International Film Fest and so much more... there is something here for every taste and nationality.

This is not meant to be a tourist guide to Dubai. It's a take on why so many people from across 200 countries choose to make Dubai their home. New York, London, Toronto are all melting pots of culture, but in Dubai it's a melting pot of nationalities as well as cultures. The expats here are still citizens of their own respective countries. The local Emirati population is estimated at less than 15 percent; the rest are all expatriates from all over the world. On an average working day I would have interacted with people from India, Nepal, the Phillipines, Egypt, Pakistan, the UK, Kenya, the USA, maybe Syria, Lebanon and of course local Emiratis. And if I've done the mall walk, I'd have chatted with a Russian sales girl in Russian, been served black coffee by a Croatian man and accepted a paper strip sprayed with a new perfume from a Nigerian girl. I'd have seen a leggy European woman dressed in the shortest of shorts with a strappy tee, and an Emirati woman covered in her abaya, with only her perfectly made up alabaster face shown to the world. Both equally beautiful, both equally at home.  How can all this not make people more tolerant and accepting of what's different?
So I rest my case... I am happy to wait for the winter chill to set in, (Dubai weather is lovely for at least six months of the year) sit back in my garden chair, and watch the twinkling lights on the top of the Burj grow brighter as the evening grows darker. 

Reams have been written on the phenomenon of social networking, but despite that, the jury is still out on this lifestyle incursion that has changed the way we behave. Every morning (of course I check my phone as soon as I’ve rubbed the sleep from my eyes!) I see a new notification from Facebook; I have a memory with x, y or z to look back on today. I wake each day to find out that seven years ago on this day, I ate pork sliders at Fatty Crab in New York with my daughter, or four years ago today, my dog ate my copy of Shantaram. Scintillating stuff! I never fail to cringe- did I really post that inane stuff on Facebook? Why did I imagine anyone might be interested in what I, or my dog, ate for lunch? But hey, I continue to do it, and someday in the distant future, I’ll probably wake up to be told that four years ago on this day, I cooked an awesome berry pulau.
The debate rages on between the indomitable facebookers and the diehard abstainers; issues of privacy form the bulk of these arguments. “For crying out loud, why would you want the whole world to know what’s going on in your life?” is the commonest one, to which the reply will invariably be, “What’s the big deal?!” The thing is, I don’t believe privacy is that easy nowadays, whether you post selfies and status updates every hour on the hour or not. Your browser stores far more personal information about you than the most prolific Facebook posts do…. and I find it more alarming that someone is tracking my every move on the internet, than letting people know that I liked the soundtrack of Bombay Velvet via Twitter.
So that establishes that; I’m obviously a fan of the social media-Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, you name it and I’m there. How else would I get a recipe for that special Maharashtrian mutton curry from a friend whom I haven’t met in 30 years, but see on FB every day? Or know that a pluviophile is someone who loves the rain (not in a million years would I think of Googling that one on the internet, and I’m universally known as the Google queen!)
For those who eschew the concept, let me assure you that Facebook and Instagram are great ways to study people and what makes them tick…. much as people like to put their prettiest and wittiest foot forward, you get to know them through the kind of content they post. For a writer, it provides plenty of fodder for thought! So here’s a list of some of the categories you’ll encounter on FB….
To start with, there’s the Political Commentator/Social Activist. This one will post a comment every day, sometimes twice and thrice a day, taking off on the morning’s political headlines. His/her views on the ineptness of government, the latest controversial statue or land allotment deal, or the current media debate on Rahul Gandhi’s latest gem. This will be followed by scores of comments through the rest of the day, from everyone who has an opinion on the subject, often leading to comical ideological altercations between the more hot-headed participants. It’s a great way to get your daily dose of news, fully dissected and debated, before you’ve read it in the papers. Especially when someone famous dies- there’s a mad scramble to see who can post the obligatory R.I.P first!
Then there’s the Sharer, who will disseminate information from across the World Wide Web, on health issues, beautiful places, jokes, videos, memes and trivia, carefully avoiding all things personal which could affect their sacred privacy. This type prefers to watch from the side-lines, without getting personally involved.
The Sports Super-fan lives for either cricket or football (maybe seasonally tennis) and often migrates from one sport to the other seamlessly. Normally a he, this category maintains a passionate, unswerving loyalty to his team/ club/ player. Armed with weighty statistics and a picture perfect memory of every game ever played, he is ready to applaud or defend his idol in accordance with the immediate requirement.
The Serial Liker: what can I say, I've been accused of being one, much too often for my liking. (No pun intended). Serial Likers.... well, they like. And they like, and they like.  It's as easy as that! They like everything from babies and puppies to wisecracks and Aunty Acid, basically anything that appears remotely likeable. Trust me, it's a vacuously happy space to be in!
Next comes the Spiritualist/Life Coach, who painstakingly lends a modicum of virtuousness to an otherwise frivolous space. This comes in the form of quotes from the masters, philosophical tips on how to live life and enlightening, thought provoking lines from Khalil Gibran and Paul Coelho superimposed on suitably soothing pictures of mountains and rivers. Never religious or discriminatory, these ‘feel good’ observations promote thirty second contemplation, and provide instant nirvana for those inclined to receive it.
The Branded Diva is a prolific selfie enthusiast, can be depended upon to guide you through all things fashionable. Donning every designer outfit worth her spiky Louboutin’s, she hashtags her way to celebrity status and garners likes by the hundreds. Every designer gown, bag and pair of shoes is lovingly chronicled, and each selfie more glossy than the next. Pure eye candy, and very educational!My personal favourite is the Joker: his/her daily witticisms and endearingly humorous views on life beam a little sunshine onto the dullest of days. Sceptics may curl a contemptuous lip and say, “Do I care if X thinks that boxing is a beastly sport, or that Y doesn’t like judgmental people?” My reply is, you don’t have to care, but you can enjoy an amusing or a poignant moment someone has shared… what is the big deal?
If the world was an oyster a few years ago, it’s now a pistachio shell. Via all this social activity, you know your absconding neighbour is on holiday in Costa Rica, your best friend’s ex is dating again, someone’s selling organic cherries in Mumbai and an old friend has become a grandmother for the third time. It’s so much more relevant than reading the papers every morning!
One hears a lot on how creating the perfect illusion of your glitziest self on social networking is a sham, that it’s detrimental to our mental health and that we’re forgetting how to socialize in person. I think the key is to remember not to take it so seriously… it’s just another phenomenon that has entered our lives along with smartphones, Google glasses and GPS. Part of our lives, and here to stay. That is, before something new takes over.