I sit with my habitual morning cup of tea – enjoying me time which by and large means my unadulterated and undisturbed digital time – browsing the internet, browsing my phone, WhatsApp and everything that’s contained in the little gadget called IPhone. I like to think I keep abreast of everything happening in the world, so I quickly run through the news headlines. I see it’s still ping ponging between security fiascos at events, railings for footpaths and now it’s ‘cladding’. A word I was unaware of until 3 weeks ago now seems to have manifested itself everywhere I look or turn and has taken over every radio program and news article. I become deeply philosophical and muse on the ironical nature of life and the misfortunes of some transforming into opportunities for others. I wonder if the poor departed souls of Grenfell Tower could take solace from the thought that they did not die in vain or if indeed Khurram Butt would rethink his actions if he could look down or up as may be the case from wherever he was assuming he didn’t get his 70 virgins… or oh! it was raisins wasn’t it?
I moved on to Facebook and my ‘friends circle’ which believe it or not, the digits printed against the ‘friends’ tab tells me is a mammoth 293. I wonder if I should click and re-introduce myself to the more obscure of them, but no I think better of it and move on to view the posts and updates. I browse through the fashion ads that pop up on my home page – Facebook advertising must cost an arm and a leg, I muse, donning my thinking cap again. They do seem able to gauge my fashion sense so accurately!!!! And the fact that I am something of an online shopping guru…
Scrolling down the page I pause to take in the genius of child prodigies being proudly displayed by fond mamas…. I stopped to adore and ‘like’ the yet undiscovered work of one future Picasso’s abstract squiggles, my aesthetic education being too inadequate, I of course pretend to grasp the inner meaning of it as I would do when browsing through a gallery of Picasso’s works I am ashamed to admit. I appreciate a budding Shelley’s ode to seasons, congratulate a future national asset, another Milkha Singh waving his first gold to the world, but stopped short at saluting little Michael Faraday for his glowing report card with headmaster’s praises carefully pinned up as exhibit no 4 at the national gallery of geniuses!!!!
While I am all admiration and praise for these little upcoming prodigies and have an emotion akin to awe for the mommies who produced these little wonders, my heart bleeds profusely for the poor unsuspecting munchkins who are undoubtedly going to be forcibly handed crayons, brushes and pens to outdo the samples produced on today’s updates which the ‘friends’ will undoubtedly be regaled with tomorrow and the innocent babies jumping happily in this late but welcome bout of warm weather suddenly called upon to imitate Shakira like gyrations, to provide competitive food for future updates. I cringe for poor little Edison struggling with his letters at school and his poor mama who despite her complete empathy with Edison’s struggle will feel that secret inadequacy at being less than the supermom who produced little Michael Faraday.
I ask myself if social networking has opened up a whole new platform for keeping up with the joneses like behavior or is it just the conveyor belt that has merely facilitated the smooth delivery of cumbersome luggage. Parading medals, cups and reports cards around to every house in the neighbourhood may have of course been an unmanageable and impractical task in the pre Facebook days.
Oh well, I break out of my Plato like reveries as I realise it’s time to get ready for the daily grind and the ploughing for bread and butter which is crunching numbers.
Through my Levit-y-nted Glasses 