I don’t know and I don’t have a way to know.

A year back my Thami (grandma) left me. As a child, I was very close to Thami. I shared the same room with her and sometimes when I felt scared , the same bed . Thami for me is a bunch of repeated fairy tales, rhymes, her childhood stories, late night mischiefs, complaints about Ma, how dad was so helpless in front of Ma. I can go on ranting endlessly about my relationship with Thami. But that is not what I want to do now. I want you to understand, She , I think, is the closest witness of my senescence.

I had not seen any close deaths before. Both my grandfathers passed away when I was 10.Too young to perceive death. Meaning, when my Dadubhai left us I just felt, sad because he would no longer be with us anymore. It’s as if I was supposed to wear a low key life for some time .But honestly, I did not miss him as much as I miss Thami.

Not saying the least, that I completely understand death now. But I probably have a better sense of it.

By now you must be wondering, of all things why did I start talking about death ? Its this genuine question that I have in my mind. Say, if your favourite author or musician passed away , would you feel sad ?The answer is yes. So my next question then is , what would you feel sad about ? And then, would you feel as much sad, as if it were a personal loss ?Or just…isssh ?

I gauge the answers would be very diverse and probably lead to one final question, “If  I am appreciative of  some piece of art, is it just the soul and content of it that I am attached to or also very personally  bonded to the face behind the creation ? And if I am not bonded personally is that indicative of a very superficial appreciation?

All of this soul searching comes to me after it’s been almost a week that Rituporno Ghosh left us. I am sad. Very sad. I just could not go to work the day I heard it. But, right now  I am leading a perfectly normal life. Why today? Two days later, I was back to my old fold. But it still shudders me to think that we will not have another film like Chitrangada or Khela or Doshar.

  Its best not to go into an attempt to write ornate lines about his work. That’s another thing. A task, which I don’t think I have the ability to put my pen to or may be bereft of words to perfectly articulate.

 When I saw the videos of his last journey I did not cry , I was just numb.

So am I bonded to him or not ?

Am I even supposed to be bonded or not ?

If I was , was I supposed to be grieving a little longer ? Or just because I was back to my daily chores in the next two days makes me less grief stricken. I don’t miss you Rituporno everyday. No, I don’t. But I definitely feel your loss more than any of your “Isssh” saying fans. You are definitely more mine.  Only because I share a personal relationship with you through the same piece of art that you created for thousands. Its like the same reason that I miss Thami more than Dadubhai. But let’s not get emotional here. If I was not personally afflicted by your untimely departure, would that make me less appreciative of your work ?  I don’t know. And I don’t have a way to know.

 Or am I just over sensitive? Because even without you knowing it, a part of me is because of you.

When I have said, all that I had to, now, almost at the end of my blog, I think I know why I said all of it.

 I had to let it out.

  

The art of crass writing

Bad writing is an art form. Just as any other form of art it comes to some naturally. Others can only try.
What prompts me to write this particular blog is the deluge of  highly creative  but crass FB status updates. Of all other cyber spaces and print papyri that harbour such figments of creativity, this vexes me the most. Although a naive person can fall a victim to such literary terrorism anywhere: billboards, bookstores, TV and of course the internet. At the outset, I give you the choice to call it quits before you go through this personal intellection.
Does one start reciting all their woes when greeted with a polite “How are you?”. Shouldn’t real-world social etiquette guide one’s virtual manners as well ?
Is it too much to assume that FB users not take it’s provocation of “What’s on your mind?” too literally ? Evidently so. On good days the FB notifications about a few particular connections of mine, and always these chosen few, are merely badly written personal trivia, on bad days they range from banal observations about life, after life and everything in between to fatuous harangues about the same. One thing that these updates cannot of accused of is a lack of variety: a moral lesson,  a literal word  substitution of a proverb in a language other than English or a highly melodramatic romantic or pain filled palaver to name a few. A conspicuous feature of such updates is its yokel tone often tapestried with meaningless punctuation marks and smileys. Might I take the liberty of pointing out that any of it is hardly decipherable through the grotesque grammar, ludicrous language or puerile punctuation, I shouldn’t be accused of profanation. Surprisingly the responses to such updates are not few. Indeed they are welcomed with many a cheer!
I will venture my pet theory to explain what actually goes on. Their urge to write possibly stems from the need to communicate and the decision about the worthiness and style of the content resides with them and them alone, I admit. In most such cases, I believe though, the need to communicate is overshadowed by the need to proclaim that they can write. This blog with its declared objective of criticising the crassitude of  personal social media updates had come with a fair forewarning. It is a semi private introspection. It is open to criticism and I would appreciate a counter critique. What does one do however to express a literary indignation and a mental concussion? There is unfortunately no dislike button on FB.
When I was young,  reading comics or watching cartoon was not encouraged nor reading the Telegraph rather I would be encouraged to read children’s versions of the classics and  The Statesman newspaper because of perceived differences in the quality of their language. That does not mean I missed my share of Tintin, Chacha Chowdhury (multlingual comic strip well known in India) or Tom and Jerry or the gloss finished Sunday Graphiti with Suhel Seth’s survival strategies. What was important, which I did not realise then, I do now, is that the sly reading induced a sense of guilt and simultaneously  instilled a sense of taste. It is that taste which probably let’s one discern the good, the tolerable, the mundane and the violently sappy. Since what one reads influences what one writes, good reading and writing form a symbiotic pair. A bad show in either is usually a good indicator of poor taste in both. As a friend said “One needs to be acquainted with artlessness to be appreciative of good art”.
Social media networks were meant to socialise and  connect  with others rather than  provide a real time commentary of your daily chores. One’s overall well being might be of interest to one’s friends but publicising the minute agenda of the day is probably extremely melodramatic for the purpose. For example, I believe the expected response to “I was too lost in thoughts of my love and hence burnt the curry on the stove” is lots of appreciation for the purported intensity of love or a justifiable portion of sympathy for the burnt curry. I can probably let such an update once in a while pass. Give me two of these a day and for days on end and you have one very grumpy friend. Just like not all films find a universal audience, all  stretches of one’s personal anecdotes might not be apt for a social  network. Along with the right of freedom in cyberspace one needs to accept their responsibility there too. It is  imperative thus that one exits and knocks again on the content before hitting the “enter button “  and slamming it across the social network.
One can of course argue, why not just turn off these  notifications? This when translated to the real world picture would be akin to not talking to the friend. I don’t want to be doing that. Also in this shrunk cyberworld I can never be sure where the messages get rerouted to me from. Also just as most FB users, in all honesty I confess to my acute  gluttony  of cynicism which keeps me hooked to infuriatingly inane and tantalizingly tempting drivel for a blog like this !!! :P (see I am trying to learn the art !!)