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Ineffectual cyber wisdom

HUMOUR
Last Updated 04 December 2010, 10:10 IST
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Yes, the one who visits you at three in the afternoon and heads straight to the bedroom to sit cross-legged on the bed to tell you that mustard oil for bhindi and saliva for pimples work best. But guess what, technology has outdated her advise.

There is Wikipidea and  Google and everything we want  is just a click away  and  so I my never have to  call her again to  verify just  how  many droplets of water, my indoor plant could do with.

Even the doctor does not break news  anymore. When he prescribed a treatment without sharing the diagnosis, I promptly told him that I knew it wasn’t an ordinary zit but a  keloid and that though he wasn’t telling me, I knew already that there was no treatment for it and whatever he may try, I was doomed to live with a keloid all life.  “Google?” he asked amusedly but ofcourse, he already knew the answer.

I tried to let go and stopped my compulsive need to google  everything  that whizzed in and  out of my mind but the  teasers lurking along the mailbox continue to tempt and tease.

They continue to offer their unsolicited wisdom as readily as auntie  once had. The moment I receive a new mail  these days, I look sideways  to  see  what  the invisible information genie is offering to show me.

It’s a game more stimulating than a cryptogram. Some pointers and plugs are barefaced and easy to read. Like when I see asides like, “Free jokes, funny photos, laugh-while-you-can,’’  I know that the mail must contain words like ‘laugh,’ ‘funny,’ ‘enjoy’.

Though for all you know, it can also be from someone in the ICU moaning that though he could not note the number of the car that hit him, he would recognise the driver’s smile anywhere.

If a sender vaguely mentions an author or  book, even if it’s in the context of booking a case against some  errant person,  the  links beckon me to grand  publishing breaks and to dreams of becoming another Rowling.

If the sender writes, “I am sleepy now,”  the links nudge  me  to take note of  ‘top insomnia treatments’  from the margins. As soon as the bank statement pops up, I am sucked into virtual tours of cruises on the Nile and caviar foot packs and diamond under-tail clips for my pet. They may be spying on my mails but obviously have problems counting the zeros.

But it is not often that I see conclusions being stretched to incongruous limits as when after a tiff with a friend, I was directed to Hindi bhajans and Hanuman Chaalisa! The exchange had been peppered with words such as ‘sad’ and ‘angry’ but it wasn’t an epic battle like the  ones we read about  in Mahabharat.

One angry e-mail exchange was followed by a link informing me  of  ‘Packers and Movers’  just in case I wanted to move cities after a tiff  with a friend ! One’s world may be falling apart but logistic help is always at hand.

Then there are those links that hint at the bizarre. “I am cleaning windows,”  I write and am promptly, in highlighted font, advised that ‘Denims may guard against rattlesnake bites’. I love  Curtis Stone, I confess and am warned  of  ‘Recipes for disaster!’

Someone  was late for work, conveyed a mail  and  the margin glowed,  “Government  employees rejoice.”  Those two sure go together!

A friend shared his anxiety about visitors at an upcoming event. “It could be a flood or a  trickle,” he wrote and I told him to  organise boats because I was being hit by a  ‘flood warning’.

A short note on this and that and nothing significant led me to, “Are you a fresher? Let companies discover your talent.” 

A mail  from a friend  talked about groceries, kids, maids  and the husband who is always late from work. And in big bold letters, am offered a new job because  maybe am working late and need to change my job.

So there it is.   All the information I do not need that enters my mind space without warning and clutters it with advise I could do without. Everything that I do not ever want to know  is at my fingertips now.  So as I  log in to check my mail and  find none, a link promptly leads me to this gem,  ‘hysterectomy via keyhole surgery is less complicated’. Auntiji, I miss you !

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(Published 04 December 2010, 10:05 IST)

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