Tweeting the reality

Swalpa connect maadi

Tweeting the reality

It was six in the morning. “Hey, get up,” he said, “I want to tweet”.

 “Well go out and do it. But don't do it on the grass.” “Don’t be dumb. I want to tweet on twitter.” That got me up in a hurry. “Whaddya means tweet on twitter? Birds twitter, human being talk and dogs bark.”

 “You are so stuck in the dark ages!” he said despairingly. “Don't you even know what twitter is?”

 “Of course, I know twitter when I hear it …and it is very pleasant in the mornings.”
 “I am talking about twitter on the Internet ……it’s about sharing your view of life, finding your voice and getting your own followers.” 

“Followers as in Swami Nithyanand?”

“Don't even go there…I am not planning an ashram. I just want followers who hang on my every word.”

“You are a dog, for God sake.You are not Shashi Tharoor!”

He growled in frustration. And fully resisted the urge to bite something, preferably me.
“I don't want to be Shashi Tharoor. I have a point of view, a philosophy of life, which I want to share with the world,” he said getting that dogged look in his eyes that seems to play havoc with  the hormones of all the female dogs in Binny Crescent. But sadly, it does little to impress me. “Go play with your bone you silly dog…. I don't know how to twitter, how will you?”

“Well then it is  time you learned to twitter. You call yourself a writer and you don't have single follower!” he expounded sounding suspiciously like the husband when he mentally mounts his pulpit to preach his long suffering wife.

He was getting aggressive so I put some of my tried and tested husband-mollifying skills to work. Sop for masculine ego is sop for canine ego. “Now why would a suave handsome, intelligent and discerning, distinguished canine (a little over the top, but believe you me, it works) like you want to waste time expressing  himself  to an unknown audience? And why would you want a following. Surely you don't want to join politics?”  
“Twitter is for the common dog to find his place in the sun. To tell the world his philosophy of life.”

“So what is your philosophy of  life Nimboo?” I decided to humour him along.

“In short, my philosophy of life is that life is a bone…..only a few people get to the marrow, while a lot of people are content to  nibble the outside.” He looked smug ..a lot like Einstein must have, pronouncing his theory of relativity after years and years of research and experimentation. “Look Nimboo, while I appreciate your bone theory, let’s be reasonable. You don't even know to read and write, how are you going to tweet yourself into a following?”

He looked at me pityingly, “You still don't get it, do you? I am going  to need a ghost writer who will tweet in my name.”

“And where?” I said, “are you going to get this very obliging ghost writer who will put across, your philosophy of life to the world?”
He looked at me with a sinister half smile playing in his eyes. And I suddenly wished, most ardently, that my daughter had left this dog back in the bylanes of Ulsoor where she had found him.


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