<p>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 But guess what, technology has outdated her advise.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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’.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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!’ <br /><br />Someone was late for work, conveyed a mail and the margin glowed, “Government employees rejoice.” Those two sure go together! <br /><br />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’. <br /><br />A short note on this and that and nothing significant led me to, “Are you a fresher? Let companies discover your talent.” <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 !</p>
<p>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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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’.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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!’ <br /><br />Someone was late for work, conveyed a mail and the margin glowed, “Government employees rejoice.” Those two sure go together! <br /><br />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’. <br /><br />A short note on this and that and nothing significant led me to, “Are you a fresher? Let companies discover your talent.” <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 !</p>
