Friday, its Friday.

Spending Friday nights at home is always a bummer, but when it is raining with a vengeance outside and your apartment's power is having more mood swings than a cat pumped on Vytautas, you are bound to try and make things a little better. At least for the sake of sanity.

Most of us end up spending our free times at night, curled up in bed, earphones plugged in and watching some random movie on our laptops. I won't lie, I spend most of my free time with my laptop. But every once in a while, you start to get sick of VLC (gosh!) and you start looking elsewhere.

Whenever I want to do something different, I make a list of the most random things that come to my mind and today when I did that, this is what I came up with:
- Crazy
- Milk
- Spies

So I went to the kitchen, made myself a hot cup of tea and while the milk was boiling, downloaded the entire playlist of House MD and located my old, worn-out copy of 'The Spy Who Came in from the Cold'.

As of the end of this post, you may expect me to be tucked in warm with Massive Attack booming in my ears and having a rendezvous with Le Carre under a flash light. Good night!

Losing the compass.

Life is a journey. It has a definite start and an end, but how we connect the dots is totally up to us. We may end up spending all our days saving for the rainy day and hit the end before it ever starts raining. Or, we may live with throwing a fig at caution and never see the end coming. Its not the fact that we connect the dots, but it is how we connect them that matters. 

As kids, life seemed infinite. There never seemed to be a lack of time or space to do whatever we wanted to do! The only things that seemed powerful enough to bind us were our own fears and tastes. And of course, a parent. 

Then we grew up and things started getting muddled up.

Life becomes an endless charade of academics, extra-curriculars, crushes, 'CV-building' activities, 'compulsory' volunteering, economic downturns, unemployment numbers etc. etc. etc. 
 We stop doing things for the sheer JOY of doing them and instead look at things for what they can give us tomorrow. We stop moulding our lives based on our likes and dislikes and instead start using an illusionary future moment as our moral compass. 

We become so obsessed with that particular moment of the future - that moment when we earn our billionth dollar or that moment when we sign the lease on that French Château - that we forget to look at where we are. We stop looking at what we have and cherishing them. 

This is all good till that future reference point stays crystal clear in our minds. But if a crack starts to appear on that image, that all-important compass, the grounds give way beneath us. We are left stranded in a place that we do not want to be and we don't understand how we got there. We start getting nervous and desperate and try to cling to the last vestiges of that image, that former goal, but it still slips away from our fingers just as the mist in the incipient morning sunshine. We lose our bearings. Things start looking scary, very very scary. 

When things look scary, when everything is dark around you, the only thing you can sense and feel is yourself. So it is important to look within. Introspection is a hard game to learn. But it is a game that teaches as much from failure as it does from victory. Try to figure out where you are and what got you there and why you are not happy. Try something outrageous, something you would never have tried in a million years before you fell into the darkness - Tap-dancing or Malay cooking or watering the plants outside on a hot, summer day. Make a fool of yourself and revel in the warmth of that fact. 
Appreciate the fact that there are still things to learn, skills to master, things to make better and failures to be born. When things are dark, all it takes is the striking of a match to bring back the light. You might have to strike at it multiple times, but you will get it eventually. Meanwhile enjoy your time in the darkness, it may not be the place you envisioned yourself to be in, but that does not make it any less of an experience to be cherished. And when the match does light, stop focussing on a point in the horizon. The horizon can wait, the next step can't.  

The Idea of Home.

It has been many years since my family lived at our home in Ashok Nagar. After moving back to Chennai from Trichy, we took residence at a home on Nelson Manickam Road as that was closer to my Mom's office in Nungambakkam. But upon the arrival of my pregnant sister, the extreme Chennai heat, the pesky mosquitoes and the non-stop traffic on NM road forced us to temporarily abandon fort at NM road and move back to our older house in Ashok Nagar. The tree-laden Municipality grounds behind our apartment provided a great sense of relief and calm as compared to the urban jungle that is NM road. Also, living out of your suitcase in a sparsely furnished apartment can be a joy in its own right :)

Last Sunday, I needed to wake up very early to pick up my Aunt from Egmore Railway Station. After religiously setting 5 different alarms on every gadget I owned, I endured a night of tremulous sleep fearing my mother's wrath if I overslept. A new grandmother tends to take out all her frustrations on her grown-up, dimwit of a boy!
Luckily at the dot of half past five, I jumped out of bed. Oddly, none of my gadgets were the reason! Instead it was the Church a little distance behind my house that had come alive for its Sunday Mass activities.

For as long as I can remember, the Church has been a perennial presence in our lives at Ashok Nagar. Every day from six in the morning till eight at night, the Church will gong its bells once an hour to enlighten all with the time and a select verse from the Bible. As a kid, I used to find these hourly interjections both irritating and fascinating depending, of course, on whether I was at my video games or not. Sundays would elevate the sound levels to a different plane altogether. Starting from around 5 in the morning till well past three in the afternoon, thousands of people would flock to the Church to hear sermons, sing songs and attend communal luncheons ; all of which would be broadcast through the booming mike system. My mother was never a fan though as Sundays were her sleep days and pronouncements of love and action by God do not exactly cajole one to an afternoon siesta! For the first few months, I was fascinated by the Mass! I would sit for hours on my bedroom window and stare at the people arriving in their best clothes. I could recognize most of the songs that were sung and would even sing along to a few. The communal luncheons would bring the smells of strange and unknown dishes to my nostrils. The Church would be a bee-hive of activity till the evening, when gradually the crowds would dwindle to an ant-line.

Coming from an orthodox Tamil Brahmin family, I was not familiar with the concept of Mass or its significance. But I still liked the idea of meeting friends and relatives on every Sunday instead of sleeping unnaturally at home! I also liked the way the Church was more than just a religious institution, it was a social and cultural node.

Very soon, my fascination with watching the Sunday Mass and the Church stopped and I moved on to newer interests, as any middle school kid would do. But the sounds and smells would always exist. Somehow, they merged into my notion of 'Home' along with the tastes of my Mom's cooking and the dusty smells of my book racks. In ways I could not understand, I felt safe, comfortable and happy every time I heard that hourly gong without actively looking forward to it or benefiting from it. Likewise, the Sunday Mass and its associated assaults of stimuli became an intrinsic part of our lives, no longer a disturbance. Without meeting any particular Christian, I had become acquainted with the group of them. They and their actions became a part of my idea of 'Home' at a very early age.

Secularism can a very tough ideal to live by. Even educated, well-travelled folks often engage in passive non-secular actions; if not through discrimination then through preferences or prejudice.
Schools teach us to subconsciously pay lip-service to the ideal of secular thought but how many of us end up imbibing it as a way of life just from schooling?  A home that prides secular thought and equality has a better chance of breeding a secular individual. However, secularism is not merely an individual value such as honesty or integrity. Secularism is easier to cultivate and practice en masse. As a community, we need to cultivate the notions of equality and fairness to all.

How do we achieve that? It is simple. Let our children run and play together.

As children, we are not predisposed to any form of xenophobia. Children are profoundly wiser than adults in that respect. It is only the elders who often implant their own ill convictions onto their children, creating artificial boundaries in their minds. If only we let each child play and learn from all children in the community, she will grow up to recognize no boundaries except the boundaries of right and wrong.

When the child's budding notions of 'home' includes the rights of all to share and co-exist, the civilizational idea of 'India' would have triumphed.

On the other hand, a sense of home that raises barriers between 'us' and 'them' fails the same idea of India.  That is why the gerrymandering of communities and electoral lines is such a dangerous practice as it attempts to cultivate the idea of a home for a particular class or community. When 'my' idea of a home does not recognize 'your' idea of a home, you are different from me. That is a fault line, no social studies texts or lip-service to equality can bridge.

A nephew is born!

I am now the uber proud Uncle to a beautiful baby boy. He was born yesterday to my elder sister and in a matter of seconds, usurped my position as the favorite kid of the family. But I could not have lost it to a better man!

It is probably in high school or in the early days of college that life stops being a journey of discovering wondrous new things and instead becomes an exercise in inuring ourselves against the new and the alien. We stop rejoicing at change and start setting our tastes in stone. We stop embracing foreign emotions and seek comfort in known tears and laughs. Around the time our physique stops to grow, we instruct our minds to follow suit.

Life cannot go on like that. Such stultified existence can only lead to decadence and ruin. To offset the set order of things and to turn our lives upside down, life periodically bequeaths upon us some great moments and unimaginable experiences. The birth of a child, in the family, is one such and probably the most beautiful of them all.

My life, my family's life and most importantly my sister's will never be the same again. For we have amidst us, a wailing boy with shocking black hair and an already long list of likes and dislikes. Taking care of him and ensuring his comfort will take precedence over everything else now. Spoiled brats such as me, used to getting things my way, will now be snubbed in passing, but far from apprehending it, I look forward to it. This is good change and I know I must embrace it.

I think it is time for me to grow up as well. Having a nephew is a huge responsibility and I really must strive to be the kind of Uncle he will be proud of. I must start learning plenty of cool things like juggling and legos to impress him in his formative years. I must strive to make myself indispensable in his schemes of merriment! Impressing him will require me to change and grow in ways I deemed impossible before. But it a good change and I must embrace it!

The mother and child are well and the city of Chennai is hot, just the way I like it. Yet another great memory has been made in my most beloved town.

The Indian Newspaper of 2013

The first rule of a capitalistic enterprise is to boost value to its shareholders by increasing profits and expanding revenues. But as capitalistic pursuits go, the Newspaper business does not fall so neatly into such frameworks. What is the real goal of a newspaper? Does it owe its allegiance to its stock-holders or to the public at large? Managing these two objectives, sometimes conflicting in nature, has always been a challenge to any newspaper worth its salt. 

Before proceeding, I must confess that I am no insider to the newspaper industry. My sole experience with the newspaper lies with the thousands of hours I have spent reading newspapers in the living room, the bed room, the kitchen and most-definitely, the bathroom. Thanks to my parents, I was introduced to reading the morning paper very early on and I cannot imagine a day now without at least skimming the headlines and the editorials. 
However, unlike other industries, newspapers lend themselves to convenient scrutiny by the public at large. As voices of commentary and critique of the society, it is only fair that the public also exercise that right from time to time. Another point I would like to stress is that the object of commentary in this piece is only the newspaper industry (that too, largely on the English Newspaper industry in India) and not TV news or Vernacular newspapers. 

Firstly, I believe that profits cannot and must not be the sole motive of a newspaper. Indian constitution rests on the three pillars of the Judiciary, the Legislature and the Executive. But there is a silent, fourth pillar, eternally examining and censuring the actions and inactions of the first three, that is the role of the Media as envisioned by the creators of our Republic.

As much as we would all like the media to be an independent, profit-agnostic exercise, the fact remains that achieving financial self-sufficiency is a prima facie requirement for the pursuit of intensive journalism. Unlike other enterprises, the media cannot rely on state funding as that could convert the media from the voice of the people to the voice of the rulers. So from that perspective, the framers of the Republic would like the Media to attain financial independence from the State for the carrying out of its responsibilities to the Indian public. 

When countenanced with such delicate, roundabout arguments for balance, it is likely that every once in a while, the Media will tip-toe on the wrong side of the border. I fear that this could be a time of such an unwarranted incursion. 

Indian newspapers have a long and glorious history. From the Bengal Gazette in 1780 to the Times of India in 1838 and The Hindu in 1878, Indian newspapers were an integral and catalysing part of the reawakening of the nation under the ambit of nationalism and Satyagraha. They were constant commentators on the British Government in India and the Indian Freedom Struggle. With such a long tradition of critical study and reporting under its belt, the Indian print media was well placed to midwife the Nation towards a mature democracy with a vibrant media. 

While Indian print media has a long history, it paled in comparison with the print media in the West, especially when it came to technology if not in terms of content or quality of reporting. 
Technologies, management practices and revenue-generating initiatives that were commonplace in the West would take many years before making their way into the Indian English Newspaper Industry and later on, into the Vernacular industry. But this time delay in the transfer of technological and management benefits from the West has been greatly reduced in the last few decades. Today, the latest and greatest in the world of reporting and printing are used in India within a few years of them making an appearance in the West. This has been a major boost to the profile and esteem of our Newspaper industry. 

However, tighter integration and globalisation mean that the bad effects get propagated too, sometimes with frightening intensity and pace. The Western print media is now crippled with the twin body-blows of falling advertisement revenues and plummeting subscription numbers. Consolidation and sale of major, iconic newspapers such as The Boston Globe and The LA Times have become staple news pieces. In these times of such great financial uncertainty, one cannot help but wonder at the effects these would have on the journalistic independence and investigative endeavours of these newspapers. 

Even though Indian newspapers are not facing the same issues as their Western counterparts today, thanks to lower internet percolation in the country, they cannot stay smug for too long. It is only a matter of time before the growth in Internet percolation ensures people start considering hard copy newspapers a redundant expense. 
But being behind the curve in this matter, has given Indian newspapers some time to adapt and hopefully stave off the crises of the West. 

Among the measures pursued by Indian newspapers in warding off the fall of subscription numbers, the most prominent are the increasing focus on entertainment aka the tabloid culture and a capricious tendency of sensationalism often by throwing caution to the wind. 

Personally, I am deeply concerned by this development as an indirect victim of these policies is the relegation of investigative journalism especially in topics unpopular with the masses. A newspaper that allows its subscription numbers to decide its charter fails the Constitution, the public and the tradition of journalism. While I may sound alarmist to many, I have very solid reasons behind my panic. Reputed, national newspapers which deeply influence public opinions are also falling into this trap and transforming the business of reporting into pitched street battles played out through pointed advertisements on TV and Youtube. There is no 'one way' of journalism, and ergo, there is no 'one-right-way' of reporting the news. It is amusing to see newspapers with over 150 years of experience  implicitly propounding this fallacy. 

The arrival of 24x7 news channels on TV revolutionised Indian Media and the public's perception towards news and current affairs. Thanks to the inherent advantages of the medium, 24x7 news channels took the daily news to millions of Indian hitherto deprived from it. Their proliferation, thanks to healthy backing by sponsors, eventually led to a situation where news channels struggled to differentiate themselves from the horde. 'In just how many ways could you read the daily news?', one might ask. Some channels responded with the introduction of media-induced sensationalism. News items were picked for broadcast, not for their intrinsic worthiness but rather for their ability to stir up partisan emotions. Purporting to portray the angst of the 'urban, middle-class Indian' (of which I am a part) these channels have been at the vanguard of a disease that has hollowed out the media from within. The print media was not far behind as reputed newspapers started clamouring for the viable (and lucrative) voice of the urban educated masses. These developments have already converted the role of the media from that of an impartial rapporteur of events into a selective PR machine cum ad-hoc judiciary cum myopic speculators. One can only shudder about the future.

The second disturbing trend is the ever-increasing focus and pages being devoted for sports, entertainment and local political claims and counter-claims. Understandably, these instil great enthusiasm among readers and hence, occupy a role in any standard newspaper. But can they claim to be the bread and butter of a standard, non-tabloid, newspaper? Most certainly not. But market dynamics suggest that this strategy, 'tabloidization' if you will, is certainly working. Newspapers that devote greater share to tabloid-worthy material and localized content are boosting their readership numbers in B and C centres, for long the holy grail of the newspaper industry.  While the latter is a recommended measure for catering news, the former is a concerning development in the long run.

While there is nothing wrong in a newspaper catering to the requirements of its readership, any newspaper should first take into account two considerations. The first is the growth of the Internet in India. Driven by mobile devices, which already account for 2/3rd of Indians reaching out to the net, close to 122 million Indians go online regularly. That number is expected to double or triple in a decade or less. Given the fact that the Internet is a reservoir for news on entertainment, sports, fashion etc., for how much longer can a newspaper expect its readers to turn to it alone for these topics? Personally, I believe that it is highly unlikely.  The Internet can always deliver faster, steamier reports on these issues.
The second consideration is a subjective one that will vary from person to person and newspaper to newspaper. Whose voice does a 'national' newspaper represent? If we go by population figures, it must represent the voice of the rural poor. But how many in that demographic refer to a newspaper regularly? If it went by readership numbers alone, it will necessarily have to represent the voice of the urban middle-class. Neither extreme is justifiable of the term 'national newspaper'. Rather, I believe that a 'national' newspaper owes its primary obligation to an implicit social contract it shares with the people of India, all the people of India. A social contract that binds it towards equitable, objective representation of all their views, concerns and interests without falling to market compulsions or ideological tones. From that perspective, devoting greater and greater share of the newspaper to catering to a small subscription base is denigrating the social contract of the Newspaper with the people. 

It is imperative that newspapers collectively awaken to arrest these trends. Introspection is a bitter pill to swallow for anyone, let alone for an inured critic. Each newspaper must recognize its voice in this integrated, internet-driven, noisy world where each one has the information at hand to have an opinion. This soul searching must definitely involve market conditions but only as a peripheral concern rather than as the scope of the search. 
Newspapers must understand that the only areas where they can always hope to compete with and surpass content on the crowd-sourced Internet are editorials, in-depth analyses and investigative journalism. Realization of its key strengths will help in harmonizing the identity of the paper with its strategies. The internet is an important tool that must be leveraged by each newspaper, not only for boosting revenues but also for widening its reach. Some articles could be made available for free on mobile internet sites while the others could be charged, similar to the strategy adopted by leading International newspapers such as The New York Times. 

A relatively more obscure weapon in the arsenal of Indian newspapers but with potentially game-changing consequences is the treasure trove of historical data in its archives. As a nation, we are notoriously inept when it comes to maintaining history and more importantly, learning from it. No wonder that we needed the British to rediscover the wonders of our own history. Newspapers are the greatest collective source of contemporary Indian history, which is of more value to the governing of this nation. The historical archives of leading Indian newspapers must be indexed and made available online. Several newspapers could come together to make this information available in the public domain. Apart from making this information available, newspapers must also strive to use them more actively in their reporting. Editorials and analyses must draw historical parallels to enable a more comprehensive understanding of the problems of today. In a nation with little or no regard for historical facts, Newspapers are vital guardians of the value of history. 

In all fairness, Indian newspapers are in fairly good shape. It is a vibrant industry that is growing well in a country with increasing literacy levels and an overdue demographic dividend. The industry has an active self-regulator in the Press Council of India and a few newspapers such as The Hindu are reputed worldwide for their quality of news reporting. These achievements sit side-by-side with dangerous, nascent overtones which must be studied and checked. The public must play a role in this, an active role. After all, this is a classic question of who will report on the reporters. And democracy rests that responsibility on my shoulders, and yours. 




 
 

The Monolingual Indian

In a land with 18 official languages enshrined by the Constitution, 1652 natively different mother-tongues and over 30,000 dialects, it should be odd to find a monolingual citizen. But far from being an oddity, people like me are becoming the norm of today.

I must clarify upfront that I am not monolingual in the way an American is with English. No, I can speak Tamil fluently and Hindi passably. I can understand enough Malayalam and Kannada to find my way around. If multilingualism related solely with the functional usage of a language, then I plead guilty to the count of a misleading blogpost-title. 

However, I refuse to accept this inferior definition for multilingualism. In an excellent essay on Bilingual Intellectuals, Ramachandra Guha defines a language as a bridge or a wormhole into an entirely new universe of values, ideas, conventions and cultures. By imbibing these natively, a bilingual intellectual can connect them with readers of a different tongue. That is a powerful thought and I have borrowed liberally from it in this post. 

Pluralism is the only word that can define India and ergo, define an Indian. There is no 'One' India and there is definitely no 'One' Indian. One of the facets of the Plural Indian is his linguistic identity. Personally, I am a Tamilian. But the Tamil I speak at home is greatly different from the Tamil spoken on the market streets of Madras. My Tamil could then be classified as Brahmin Tamil. However, it would still be different from the Tamil spoken by Iyers. The words, pronunciations and phrases will be quite different. So I can finally say that my mother tongue is Iyengar Brahmin Tamil. 

But I still consider myself as a Monolingual Indian for neither can I think effortlessly nor can I communicate complex thought processes in Tamil or Hindi, half as well as I can do so in English. English is, in the broadest sense, my 'mother tongue'. 

An important aspect of knowing a language is one's literary contributions to it. Many people might be satisfied with just using a language as a functional tool for purchasing bus tickets or for ordering dinner. If everyone had such a commonplace relationship with languages, the world would be a very dull place indeed. I like to consider a language as a malleable sheet of gold. One really must try bending it back and forth to express more than just 'Two burgers and a Coke'. But literary outputs in any language requires a greater depth of understanding and an intrinsic ability to 'connect' with the language on a sub-conscious level. Of course, many writers first output their work in their native or first language and then translate it into their second language. But if the translation is to retain the spark and vigour of the first, the 'connection' with the language becomes paramount. 

I cannot 'connect' with Tamil the way I can with English. As a Tamilian, if not as a Tamil Brahmin, I can claim inheritance to the extensive literary outputs of the Sangam Age, the Self-Respect Movement, the Dravidian Pride Movement and the Bhakti Movement. Sadly, I cannot and certainly could not do justice to such an inheritance. I can pay lip-service to my heritage but it is a dead artefact to me for all practical purposes.

I do not have the luxury of repining as I was not denied in any manner from learning Tamil, Bengali or Sanskrit well. I certainly had the opportunities but not the inclination. In a misplaced childish sensibility, I used to regard English as a symbol of status and power. The vernaculars seemed to be the pointless exercises of a nation that got subjugated by an island for 300 years. To rephrase in a less odious manner, English appeared like the express to the future, while vernaculars seemed to be bridges to a broken past. 

I regret those convictions today. The past, broken or otherwise, carries powerful totems for the future and it's imperative that we carry forth its heritage. My inability to connect with my own linguistic heritage and thereby influence my literary outputs, in English or otherwise, renders me handicapped. I can connect easier with the British peerage of the 19th century than with the Thanjavur Marathas who ruled my native town. 

A sanguine commentator would advise me to plunge right-away into learning Tamil from first principles.  He would ask me to understand the grammatical underpinnings of the language and over many years, achieve the level of comfort required to comprehend the great works. That is certainly a plan. I could definitely learn the grammar and hope to reach a level of comfort with the language that I currently enjoy with English, but I fear that it will always be the effort of an 'English speaker attempting to learn Tamil'. My thought process will always kick start in English and then hopefully switch to Tamil. But I suppose it is better to try and fail than to not try at all.

Here is to hoping I can someday write a rant in Tamil about having missed the opportunity to connect with Bengali! 

The communication paradox

I vividly remember the summer holidays in Kolkata after my 7th grade. Amidst the searing heat and tee-shirt clenching humidity, I discovered the letter. What started out as a playful prank with my cousin (also a wiry 12 year old) who lived in Chennai, soon turned into a continuing series of correspondence spanning an array of interests and aversions, ranging from Pokemon and Batman to Brinjals and the Australian Cricket Team.

Members of both families found our obsession with letter-writing rather odd. After all it was the year 2003 and the e-mail had started to become ubiquitous even amongst the Dial-up modem middle-class. My mother surmised to be to be a P.G.Wodehouse-inspired phase of mine, but avidly encouraged me to get better at it.

A few months back, while I was shifting a few things from Chennai, my home town, to Bangalore, my work town, I recovered one of those letters. Cliched, assiduously formal but with childish content and expressed in a bits-by-pieces scrawny handwriting, the letter brought back some old memories and rekindled old laughter. It was a good thing to discover. But running into old, warm things is nothing new, right? We all see that old diary in the back of the cupboard and end up poring over it that weekend, or we rediscover that buried tin box with all our childhood treasures in it and rack our brains all day trying to figure out what was so special about that one-armed G.I.Joe. No, my discovery was very much within the boundaries of coincidence and a childhood well-spent.

But I believe that finding that letter was more than just that. It almost felt like the Universe was nudging me to understand the under-currents below my feet and acknowledge them. You see, I am a communications engineer. I work on a mobile system-on-chip. For the better part of my education, I have studied about communication and ways of making it more effective. And haven't we?
From the once-revolutionary Telegraph to the today's 'sexting' convenient Snapchat, we have come a long way in making communication more effective, efficient, cheap and most-importantly easier.
But is communication, just the transfer of ideas or thoughts from one person to another? Is it just that mechanical experience we all have to endure to convey information to others? After reading that letter, I refuse to accept that premise.

Because that letter was not about the content. What it spoke to me was not written on it. The subtle implication that another person took the trouble of sitting down with a pen and paper, jotted down their thoughts, phrased them eloquently (*citation needed* ), stuck a stamp onto, walked down to the post box and dropped it, all for the express purpose of my having a peek into his opinions on Pokemon evolution. That was never written on that letter, but that was the message which struck home. That letter had character. It had meaning and more importantly, a human face behind it.

I wish I could say otherwise but today we do not have that. The under-currents that flow beneath every letter and which sometimes need 10-20 reads to identify have been made irrelevant today. Earlier, words used to be the mode for describing a beautiful vista outside one's hotel room when traveling. Today it is about Instagram this and tweet that. That picture was never taken for one special person to admire along with us, it was taken to boost one's self worth on a virtual reality.

I am all for the communication revolution. After all, it pays my bills! I agree that in this fast paced world, awaiting a week for a reply is not feasible. But surely there could be a middle ground? That does not just mean forcing kids to do it to appease the guilt of their parents. Surely, we could find more things to say without just punching into a slab of metal and glass?