 |
|
Off
the Cuff
Face-off on Facebook
Gulf
News, November 6, 2007
There's
a story from the early days of the cellular telephone that tells
of a man pacing the lobby of a five-star hotel, talking loudly into
his mobile. Then, as he asked for empires to be bought and sold,
his purportedly engaged phone rang. I think the tale goes on to
claim the man actually melted and flowed down the marble steps outside.
In those days, for every person who'd flaunt their
phone thusly, there'd be a someone who'd make as much of a show
of not having one. "So tell me," they'd ask with a sneer,
"why are you so important that you need to be accessible at
all times?"
A few years later, every living creature had a
Nokia, so the frontier moved on. Today, online social networking
is a similar Wild West---at least, among the doddering senior citizens
of the online world: 25 and older. To the younger group, a Facebook
page seems as natural and necessary an accessory as a face (to the
point of making the latter redundant).
A recent meeting of a group of friends in their
early thirties showed they all had Facebook pages, but also a deep,
existential guilt. The first emotional hurdle seemed to be defining
the word "friend" as used by social networking sites.
Some people took the word very seriously, and treated their Facebook
pages the way they would a private wedding ceremony; only the best
and closest allowed in. Others understood the word to mean anybody
from bosom buddy to the person they made eye contact with on the
bus that morning.
But whichever approach, there's a certain cachet
among these senior citizens to having fewer rather than more friends.
After all, these people have lived long enough to know that popularity
has nothing to do with numbers, and are also probably acquainted
with the hard-wired impossibility of having a functioning group
larger than 150 (Dunbar's number).
Thus, older people with large numbers of friends
are sometimes dismissed as "friend collectors", sad folks
who add friends just to feel wanted. Funnily, the dismissive seem
highly prone to feelings of "Facebook rejection" when
they log on and find that other people are more socially active
then they.
I have always been guilty of never being able
to say no in social situations, so I have all kinds of peripheral
people on my Facebook list. Schoolmates I barely remember, college-mates
I barely liked, friends of friends who I've met just once, who sent
a friend request and then vanished.
Not so long ago, a real-life friend expressed
horror at seeing somebody we'll call Nina on my list. "But
you used to bitch about her!" she said. "This isn't a
numbers game."
That set me thinking… I once shared an office
with Nina. We both (as did nearly everybody in that 60-member office)
suffered under inept and vindictive management, so we had history
of sorts. We'd had many a hushed discussion by the water cooler,
but we weren't "friends"---I never really took to her
much.
Even so, when I saw her friend request after a
couple of years of being out of touch, I was happy to hear from
her. So what is the right answer here? More importantly, can the
answer be found now? In the future, they say, a Facebook page may
become an essential part of life, an online identity used for getting
a home loan and landing a job.
Until then, we 25-pluses pretty much have to choose
between being either loud show-offs in the lobby or effete sneerers
at the bar.
<
>
|
|
|
|
Archives
(Design changeover still in progress.)
Anywhere
between super-fit and super-fat
One of the biggest lessons
I'm learning as I get older is that I'm not 17 anymore. Considering
I'm double that age, this should be blindingly obvious, but the
trouble is that I still feel 17, at least until I do anything out
of the ordinary.
The
revenge of the meek
As if it isn't bad enough
that the non-shy see the quiet person at the end of the table and
assume he or she is a snotty little git, shy people make that mistake
all the time.
California's
free (to moisturise)
The other day, I was out
on my bicycle on a sweltering spring day. This happens now and then
in Southern California--the other weekend it was 25°C on Friday,
38 on Saturday, and 25 again on Sunday.
The
mammoth sugar reflex
When humans immerse their
faces in water, their heart rates decrease. The colder the water,
the more pronounced the effect, and the longer they can remain without
breathing.
Darling,
it's over between us
The most useful and heartbreaking
advice I've read about writing is a quote attributed to writer Sir
Arthur Quiller-Couch that goes: "Murder your darlings".
Blogging
for life
Of all the hobbies I've
had a go at, blogging is one that actually repels me, even as I
fall for its sly charms.
High-def
war: the end ...?
Consider just some of
the formats, extant, dying or defunct, of the little silver disc:
CD, VCD, HDCD, SACD, CD-R, CD-RW, CD-ROM, DVD, DVD-A, DVD-R, DVD-RW,
DVD-ROM.
Everybody's
an expert now
Okay,
now I have officially been to one too many social occasions where
somebody is really "into" something. It's not so much
the word, but the way in which it's stressed that sets my teeth
on edge.
Putting
mettle to pedal
The last time I wanted a cycle, my choice
was easy. Two wheels, pedals. No child could ask for more. This
time, I'm considering joining a PhD programme in bicycle buying...
The
trouble with people
Jean Paul Sartre's play No
Exit has a famous premise and line that's now so overused by
journalists, it's probably on the cliché-list of several
stylebooks.
Questions
of taste
The problem with having an even
half-functional imagination is that reality has a terrible time
keeping up. This has been my undoing all my life.
Hunting
for a living
Hunting for a living hasn't changed
much over the millennia. Stalking, sniffing the air, staying alert
to danger in the vicinity, and finally moving in for the kill, paying
the security deposit with a swift slash of the dominant arm.
Come
join my cult
It
was my first Saturday-evening outing in a while, and I was accompanying
a dubious couple to a five-hour-long cult meeting.
Strike
while the fire is hot
First
the fires, now the writers' strike... Southern California just keeps
burning. It's flippant of me to associate a disaster with a relative
non-event, but both are so very Californian I can't resist.
Face-off
on Facebook
There's
a story from the early days of the cellular telephone that tells
of a man pacing the lobby of a five-star hotel, talking loudly into
his mobile. Then, as he asked for empires to be bought and sold,
his purportedly engaged phone rang.
LA's
underground movement
My
favourite big-city experience is the moment you crest the escalator
of an underground station and step into a new neighbourhood.
The
emptiness of choice
India,
for all its grotesquerie and occasional rapaciousness, has a redeeming
innocence. It is the honesty of the child (who knows no other way
to be), rather than that of the adult who knows honesty is merely
a part one must play.
Making
the most of jams
The
English have the weather, Bangaloreans have traffic. It won't be
long before, in the style of the Inuit, Bangaloreans have 40 different
words for "traffic jam"; to describe everything from a
light sprinkling of vehicles to impassable drifts.
An
endearing naïveté
Ronnie
Chan has egg on his face. The Hong-Kong businessman, who drops statements
such as, 'I bought 40 companies in France' into speeches, is not
shy about the potential greatness of China.
Our
inner OC
It
has taken us a year to get used to it, and when there are hints
that we may have to move out of Orange County, we realise with surprise
that we’ll miss it.
A
modern-day witchhunt
It
gets hot inside, so the writer often takes his laptop to the balcony.
There’s always a cool breeze there, and it overlooks the happy
bustle of the swimming pool.
Disorder
at the border
I
recently did one of the most foolish things I've done in many years.
I attempted to leave the US with only a driving licence as identification.
Cutting
through the clutter
Clutter.
Some people see it, others don't. And as life would have it, the
ones who do, end up marrying the ones who don't.
Wrong
on many levels
I've
discovered an eerie phenomenon here in the US. Friendly Indian couples
skulk in public places waiting to pounce on other Indian couples
and offer them jobs.
The
stress on accent
Many
of us Indians for whom English is a first, or near-first, language,
fondly imagine we have a "neutral accent".
Do
as the roamers do
In
India, the phrase "foreign returned" carries almost as
much baggage as the people it refers to.
Giving
in to the network ratings
My
sister-in-law tried long and hard to get my wife and I to sign up,
but both of us instinctively flinched from the concept. A networking
site that puts you in touch with hundreds (or thousands, or millions)
of people?
Ring,
ring. It's your ear calling
One
day, I did something very out of character. I handed my wife a box
of matches, stuck a hollow candle into my ear, and asked her to
light it.
The
baby boy blues
Last
time, I wrote about the dangers of being less than one hour late
for my neighbour's baby-naming ceremony, but didn't touch upon the
other big danger that evening: the baby.
Punctual
is the new premature
I'm
the sort of person who's 10 minutes early to everything, except
social occasions where I'm either on time, or unfashionably, five
minutes late. My wife is less pathological and knows the value of
a good 30-minute social margin.
Kitchen
knives don't cut people
Through
a series of events too convoluted to recount here, we have the use
of a friend's sports car. We're guilty about the yeti-like carbon
footprint of its 4.6L engine, but when you don't have a car and
somebody tosses you the keys to theirs, you catch.
Keeping
them off the streets
Every
so often our doorbell rings, and I open the door to a hulk carrying
a clipboard. The hulk's story usually goes that he is in school
and is selling newspaper subscriptions to help with his fees.
The
his and hers of shopping
Whenever
the wife says we need to go to the shops, I immediately ask: "What
are we going for?" If the answer is either "clothes"
or "shoes", I run away screaming, and am not seen again
for days.
A
living history
One
of our longest-standing family friends lives in Holmfirth, West
Yorkshire, in a dwelling called The Old Farmhouse. This being England,
it's not the twee name of a faux-country house built ten years ago.
Seeing
into the future
I've
often seen people standing outside the local cinema with a sign
saying, "Free movie". I've wondered what the catch is:
for if there's no free lunch, there's hardly likely to be a free
movie.
The
breath of a wok
Guacamole
has been in the American news recently… or rather, Kraft's
version of the avocado-based dip. A woman from Los Angeles is suing
Kraft Foods Inc. because its guacamole is less than two per cent
avocado...
Living
in pop-culture central
When
a New Yorker sees the subway train to Harlem, it's unlikely that
the jazz standard 'Take the A Train' comes to mind every time. Similarly,
a Californian on the Santa Monica Boulevard is probably not humming
'All I Wanna Do' by Sheryl Crow, the way I do whenever I see the
sign.
There's
plenty in a name
Bangalore
recently enjoyed a festival of Kannada plays in English. There was
excitement in the theatre community because, for the first time,
the Karnataka government, specifically the Karnataka Nataka Academy,
was sponsoring English theatre.
The
future's on a roll
It's
amazing how easy it is to forget. After a busy week of photographing
a festival of plays in Bangalore, I packed away my gear and spotted
something in my camera bag that I haven't used in a very long time.
A film picker.
House
husbands unite!
She
pitched her voice loud enough for everybody to hear, feigned embarrassment
at having to ask, and said, "So what's it like being a house
husband?" I cringed, but not for myself. I was embarrassed
for her.
Give
food a chance
I
thought I'd never make a negative cuisine generalisation, but I
really don't like Mexican food. This troubles me because Southern
California is probably the best place in the world, after Mexico,
for Mexican food.
Sofa
beds, big cities, old friends
In
the Museum of Modern Art in New York is a work called The Lights
Going On and Off by Martin Creed. It is an empty gallery with bare
walls in which the lights are set on a continuous timer to turn
on for five seconds and off for five seconds.
Beetle
dressing
As
I dutifully ate my salad, a tiny brown beetle crawled out of it,
heading quickly for the side of my plate. It seemed unfazed by the
balsamic vinaigrette and kept up a good pace, almost escaping over
the edge.
The
borderline cases
As
I stood in line, a man who'd been sitting to one side was called
up to the counter. To my disbelief, after a few questions from the
officer, a guard came up behind and handcuffed him, even as the
officer asked: "Have you been arrested in the US before?"
Taking
life at 33.33rpm
I
was going to attend a record fair for the first time and was burning
with curiosity. Would it be full of dusty old men in anoraks looking
for LPs of obscure Tchaikovsky concerts?
Summers
to remember
When
we tropical types visit Western countries, we expect--no, demand--that
the weather always be lovely and cool. We feel cheated if we so
much as break a sweat.
Too
much of a good thing?
A
pretty woman in white stood in a spotlight just off the front of
the stage. I assumed she was an announcer or an extra dancer, or
even - this being a faux Beatles concert - someone playing a crazed
fan.
Beware
of biting vegetable
It
was the first time I'd seen cactus do anything but stick out of
the ground. There on the vegetable shelf of a supermarket, between
the leeks and the jalapenos, was a small pile of cactus pads, spines
still on.
Shiver
me timber!
The
first and only time in my life I have had to throw away an ice cream
was on my first trip to the US. I quickly learned that when in America
and presented with the food choice of 'small, regular or large',
to always go for 'small', even if half starved.
Travelling
light
The
last six years have gone by so fast that I feel I haven't been in
one place long enough to put down a bag - leave alone roots.
There's
electricity in the air
In
the Silicon Valley of India, as soon as there is the hint of a rainstorm,
they turn off the power.
Scintillating
cut and paste
As
a writer, internalisation is my worst nightmare. I have, without
a qualm, watched my plays being rehearsed for weeks, and then halfway
through opening night, I undergo a Moment.
Browsers
take a bruising
When
Mr T.S. Shanbhag's phone rings, he invariably has to move a heap
of books to get to it. As he writes out a bill at his desk, he does
so on a stack of periodicals two feet high.
Will
work for words
There
were 12 of us in our high school class. Now, 16 years after school,
many of us live outside India - mainly in the US. Every so often,
someone visits Bangalore, and the class gathers again.
The
mirrors that walk
At
a recent party, once all the revelry was done, a small group of
us sat down and did something I haven't done at an outing for a
long time. We had meaningful discussion.
Different
strokes
When
I finish my swim, I often linger by the pool, people watching. As
with waterholes in the wild, the variety of characters drawn to
the average swimming pool is astounding.
The
chicken run
Recently
in this column, I wrote how being a non-vegetarian wasn't the best
idea on this crowded planet. And now, chickens are hammering this
home in waves around the world.
Light
on the subject
I
think lighting is the most exciting of all of theatre's "backstage
arts". It offers a combination of art and science that perhaps
only architecture can rival.
Feeding
on guilt
Many
people define their city experience by the entertainment; my group
of friends defines it by the food. But not just any food. We are
excessively proud of the fact that we know the best, cheap meals
in town.
Blinkers
by the bagful
Brown
skin, Indian accent, broken English. If you think the three necessarily
go together, I've met you several times in Dubai.
Dangerous
puffed-up pigeons
What
is it about theatre that attracts people of little learning made
dangerous because they think they know everything? Writers, directors,
lighting designers, stage managers: the average theatre in Bangalore
is filled with a cast of giant walking egos.
The
great cycle of life
It's
been over 15 years since I got on a cycle that actually moves when
I pedal. And over 15 years since I've hit the back roads around
my home; roads I've clattered across thousands of times as a child.
Height
of torture in the sky
I've
been lucky with my neighbouring airline passengers in that I've
never been unlucky. I've had quiet successes: people without babies;
people who say nothing after "hello".
Thank
you for the music CDs
My
name is Gautam and I buy CDs. There, I've said it. When feeling
depressed, some people go to a fast-food place, some eat chocolate,
some buy shoes. I go to a music store.
Keeping
it alive and singing
I
recently went to a concert by a group of musicians in their sixties.
It was a senior citizens' evening at a retirement home and the group
played to a warm crowd of about 10 people. I lie. Actually, the
sexagenarians were The Rolling Stones...
Between
the past and the future
One
of my favourite analogies is the one that has the entire lifetime
of the earth reduced to one year. You know it the one in which the
earth begins on January 1, dinosaurs rule around Christmas time
and recorded human history starts in the last seconds before midnight.
Over
to the mute channels
With
marriage, there is much doubling up of household items. And therefore,
with marriage, comes redundancy.
The
magic of the movies
Recently,
my wife and I visited that centrepiece of American kitsch: the theme
park. The idea hadn't appealed to her at all, so she had to be dragged
there--not quite by her hair--but certainly against her will.
The
city that went bang...
I
have finally visited one of the dens of infamy that dot my city.
I got there as an insider, picked up by a fly-by-night taxi and
driven through back roads in a tearing rush to be there before the
show started.
O
for those languid 2MHz days
One
day, after playing the latest near-reality shoot-'em-up computer
game, I had a nostalgia attack.
A
war between two worlds
Hollywood
makes us intolerant. We learn to expect every image to have an explanation,
every character to have a motive, every question to have an answer.
Jockeying
for position
Disc
jockeying is not, as one would expect, a profession gawky boys have
mastered in bedrooms as the only way to enter parties too cool for
them.
By
air to India
The
man next to me is pecking at a device he can use to take photos,
write emails, make phone calls and control nations. The plane is
hot.
Don't
shoot the jazz messengers
If music is a universal language,
why do the saxophones sometimes play Greek and the pianos comp Latin?
I
wish him mosquitoes
The
Man With the Loudest Laugh in the World is my neighbour. He shares
his studio flat with--as life would have it--The Man Who Says Funny
Things Into the Night.
|
