(22 Apr ’07)
I was/am already a
member of two literary groups that are so active that per day I delete some
forty mails from my inbox. The group’s members read books of/about south Asian
authors/writers and discuss them. The members live in different parts of the
world, are mainly of Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi or Sri Lankan origin, and
united in their interest in reading. Many of them write, and put their work up
for objective criticism from the others. This is the best way of getting people
to say what they truly feel without your feeling hurt. They’re strangers, don’t
know you, and you can trust their feedback. I recently read Complications by
Atul Gawande, who’s of Indian origin, but has never lived here because his
parents, doctors both, had migrated before his birth to the land of
opportunities, the US of A. This book, “notes from the life of a young surgeon”
made very interesting reading for a lay person and I strongly recommend it to
anyone who prefers non-fiction. One of the things I find curious is that, in
the English language, which many in India have adopted as their mother tongue,
philosophical writing is best written in the western countries. Our writers
borrow too heavily from ancient texts. Original thinking is scarce. Pity,
because the Upanishads encouraged the questioning attitude and personal
thought, the search for Truth.
The other group is an
Indian Air Force one, where retired oldees, mainly, are busy cut-and-pasting
interesting items about military affairs the world over. I’m amongst those that
believe military might is necessary for a country to get respect and keep peace
even within itself. This is highly debatable, I know, but that’s my belief. And
since we’re a democratic country, I have right to that opinion and to give
voice to that expression. This group also tells about who’s where, settled how,
and other little human interest knick-knacks. This group keeps my feet on the
ground. Everyone, almost, knows everyone as the Air Force is a small community,
and no one hesitates to call a spade a spade. They’re too professional to take
things personally, have no fear of fighting back if they disagree.
And still at the end of it all, everybody ‘belongs’.
Yet another and the
newest one, is of my old chums from school who’ve begun a group on Yahoo. Every
day a new email is added and I can imagine the squeals from across the world as
a photograph is (barely) recognized, with spouse and children in the frame. My
husband is treated to stories, long-forgotten, of benches with love-notes
scratched in them, and shared tiffins. This group has warmth, albeit distant.
If we all lived together we’d probably be involved in politics, but distance
does make the heart grow fonder.
I’m a member of
smaller, not so interesting groups also, which keep sending me forwards. I used
to delete forwards unread, mercilessly, because I believed that they sent
viruses to my dear old computer. Then someone who’s an expert in these things
told me it won’t happen, so I began to open them and really enjoyed many.
Whether the soppy “god loves everybody’ types or the whacko ‘laugh a second’
variety or the sob-story-that-quite-possibly-is-invented, I began to spend many
of my waking, internet hours reading and then re-forwarding them. Until some
people complained that their mailboxes were getting jammed. Darn. Now am more
selective. About whom I send to.
The biggest advantage
of my groups is that I get worldwide, instant readership and feedback. It’s
such a pleasure to know a stranger has appreciated a thought, a word, a story.
What’s fun is that sometimes I even get paid for the stuff. Vive la internet.
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