George Orwell died at the age of 46 to TB, writing his magnum opus Nineteen Eighty-Four. One of the many predictions expressed in this book was that there will be a surveillance state in the near future. It’s 2021 and almost everything is under surveillance: from your movement on the street to where your money is traveling even if you aren’t. Yet, what he got wrong was how people are going to deal with narcissism. He thought people wouldn't be OK with being watched by Big Brother. One look at social media and you’d acknowledge that people are craving to be seen thoroughly, not noticed glibly. The younger generation digs its dopamine from being on the stage all the time. Kids in schools are fighting while their so-called friends are uploading the video for others to enjoy the spectacle. Not very long ago, NSA was caught tapping phones and Facebook continues to monetize your personal data and almost every country is fast moving towards acquiring technologies that enable the state machinery to keep an eye on the public. Which is quite ironic when people are anyway exposing their very existence, not just whereabouts, for a few likes and comments.
The trouble with being mildly popular on social media is you end up assuming that you are genuinely popular. Trust me, you are not. Yes, once in a long while, somebody might recognize you inside a mall or at the airport but that’s about it. Your presence shouldn’t be overrated and your influence can’t be overestimated. Even if you are earning money from promotion/sponsorship, popularity on social media is a figment of your imagination. A participation medal at best. The toughest deal is to make it in the offline world and then move online, not the other way around.
If you are in the habit of posting content—every little thing you put up there, be it an adorable image or a wry sentence, is content—regularly, then you are in for a curse. It doesn’t matter whether you are feeling great or extremely shitty while being active online. If you are active, chances are fellow netizens will think that you are doing OK. This theory tests itself when you go offline for a bit. When they notice your absence after a few days, their first collective thought is – “Is <your name> OK?” Nobody is thinking, “Oh nice, <your name> finally found an escape from this self-validating trap. So happy for <your pronoun>!” No more pretense. No more TMI. No more peer pressure to be seen because getting noticed is too much to ask for.
If you are a chess fan, you would know that Ian Nepomniachtchi is going head-to-head with Magnus Carlsen for the World Championship title this week. Interestingly, Nepomniachtchi is one of the few players with a positive record against Carlsen. And yet, during a build-up interview, he said that his best win against his old foe lies somewhere in the future. At first glance, this statement might come across as a blend of arrogance and wit but on closer inspection, you’d learn that this sentiment has to be the same for all of us in everything we do. Our best should always be in the future. We should never become a name that meant something once upon a time. The ultimate goal is to outlast ourselves. And that can be done by staying focused ahead.
Do you ever watch a tycoon’s interview on YouTube or a documentary about the Russian mafia and wonder how those high-chaired people make decisions? Or what really drives them to do (and achieve) what they set out to. In my younger days, I didn’t care much about such pumped individuals because I felt they are chasing something they will never get. No, it wasn’t my wisdom at work. It was plain pathetic lethargy at rest. Now, after seeing a bit of this world, I enjoy guessing the mechanics behind achievers: how they deal with self-doubt, what makes them nervous, who they do go for advice, where do they see themselves in 150 years, why not quit when they are ahead, etc. And here’s my conclusion: all of us are on level pegging, regardless of our social strata and personal issues, because we share the same sky and there is no cheat code from disappointment and death. A small bowl of cavier or a bottle of premium wine from Italy don’t make a fucking difference. Thank you for attending my sed talk.
10 years ago, I worked for a wonderful editor who showed confidence in me and believed I could write well. Shubha ma’am was responsible for helping me with my first byline, my first celebrity interview, my first feature story, my first panel interview, and so many more firsts at mid-day. However, of all the things I did there, what I enjoyed the most was taking care of the three pages of Hollywood in sunday mid-day. She gave me that responsibilty and I could do whatever I liked with that paper space. So, apart from filling the usual syndicated news bits, I wrote long pieces on topics others weren’t bothering with: hidden meaning behind movie posters, extremes actors went to for performance, tattoos (obviously) and their significance, little known brilliant foreign-language movies, filmmakers overcoming production struggles (LOTR?), and so on. I truly wish I reach a stage in life where I can help someone young develop confidence like that.
According to a recent study, those who have imposter syndrome tend to be better at their jobs than people who apparently don’t have imposter syndrome. In all fairness, each one of us have gone through moments when we were clueless in office meeting rooms. And there were certainly instances where you winged your way through mental bullshit and brain farts. Which brings us to another great conclusion today: the difference between those ‘imposters’ performing better than ‘non-imposters’ is that the former group confesses to impostering.
During my first ever flight, I saw a beautiful pair of hands emerge on the window side. They belonged to a foreigner (who was evidently a tourist) and seated in front of me. She was clicking pictures of the mountain ranges below. Not sure whether it makes a creep by today’s woke standards but I quickly clicked a picture of her hands, beautifully aligned with her digital camera, and abundant sunlight to boot. It’s been a decade or so since then and sometimes, I do ponder how those hands are doing.
Beauty attracts beauty, right? Wrong. Beauty attracts everything. It’s a magnet of the finest as well as the worst kind. But there is a natural caveat here: physical beauty is momentary. Confusing beauty with eternity is what fool’s paradise is made up of. Seldom do you come across human beings who understand the difference between skin and heart. Which is why there are people who make you want to kiss them. And then there are people who make you want to hug them. Deep inside, you know after one good hug, you’ll be fine. Just fine.
The problem with a good show is you have to watch it again. Breaking Bad. The Wire. The Sopranos. Malgudi Days. Reply 1988. And the problem with a good comedy show is you have to watch it again and again and again. I am rewatching The Office (US edition) and have come to accept that every single character in this show is toxic. Except Dwight, Andy, Meredith, Karen, and Holly. Michael is so damn annoying that not an episode goes by you don’t want to punch his nose in. Jan deserves Michael. Jim is projected as a sweet fellow but the way he coldly dropped Katy and Karen tells you otherwise. Pam is nice but only as long as is needed. Angela’s religious uppity can only be matched by her incredible hypocrisy. Creed is the shadiest character in American television’s history. Kelly’s understanding of the world borders more on selfishness than ignorance. Ryan deserves Kelly. Kevin grew out of the school but his brain remained in that building. Oscar is righteous to a large extent but his tolerance of Angela is surprisingly limited. Phyllis can be ridiculously evil. For someone so senior, Stanley can’t care less except for pretzels. Toby is not ideal for HR. With time, you realize that Dwight is a remarkably noble character who doesn’t lie and goes out of his way to protect others. Andy initially comes across as a petty wreck but his character’s maturity over time is admirable. Meredith remained a Woodstock spirit through and through. Karen deserved someone better than Jim. Holly deserved someone way better than Michael. Anyway, that’s what great writing is all about. You can go forward and backward with your assessment as an audience. Oh, I’ve strategically omitted those who mainly worked outside of office, including corporate and warehouse.
Speaking of staying in the race for long, let’s drag our attention to Nicholas Cage’s work in Pig (2021). Watch it if you haven’t yet. Watch it even if you only watch halal movies. One of the most heartwarming tales of love for an animal. Even dog-centric stories sometimes fail to tug your heartstrings the way Cage’s character does. More than that, I admire how he went against the tide of memes and mockery to deliver a memorable performance. I won’t be surprised if the experts go on to hail this as his best ever. Like Nepomniachtchi said, the best work lies in the future. Hopefully.
I love cinema to bits but it’s still an exercise in imagination. None of them stories are real. None of the actors are real. None of the emotions are real. It’s all fake. From A to Z. Everything is an act of deception except how people react to a movie. That shit is real. Yes, we shouldn’t seek perfection when art demands replication. Even the movies that receive Oscars for Best Editing Award have long lists of editing goofs on IMDb. That’s how it is. A paradox of a world we bear to live in. I just want cinema to reach a level where when somebody on the screen throws a lamp, it’s not so damn easy. Zero resistance. In real life, the lamp would struggle to leave its electric cord.
Since I am that guy who enjoys being nose-deep in nostalgia, let me share another anecdote from my journalism days. When I was on desk duty at mid-day, I used to keep a small pencil tucked behind my right ear at all times, like the carpenters did in my childhood neighborhood. Back then, taking notes was a major part of my existence. Phone number here, a tip there, an idea here, a lead here, information there, etc. After quitting journalism, I stopped writing manually except for to-do lists and wholesomely switched to typing. So much so my handwriting has demoted from horrible to atrocious and my knuckles hurt when I push more than four sentences at once. Not sure whether I miss working for a paper but muscle memory got highly compromised, not to mention the cartilage in my ear. No lead tucked in there.
*chills*
*literal chills*