These are horrid times. Times that force you into questioning your existence, the meaning of life and the afterlife and even moksha. Yes, you guessed it right. I am talking about the horrific news of Prime Minister Narendra Modi signing off from Facebook, Twitter and Instagram from Monday.
He was accused of not holding press conferences but no one cares because he has always been right next to our heart. If Charlie Puth was One Call Away, Modi ji was just One Swipe Away. Those insightful quotes, the touching condolences, even the silence that spoke a million words never let us feel his absence in India. Should this happen, who will tweet for these 130 crore deshwasi from the distant lands of Argentina, Australia, Bahrain, Bangladesh, Belgium, Canada, Fiji, Indonesia, Iran, Ireland, Israel, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, South Africa, South Korea, Switzerland, Thailand, United Kingdom, Uzbekistan Sri Lanka, United Arab Emirates, Germany, Japan, Nepal, Singapore, China, France, Russia, the US Of A and many more?
He was not just in our phones. His Mann Ki Baat links on Twitter and Facebook brought more joy than talking to my family. It was my cocoon of solace — away from this mad, mad world. But he is hurt. We have hurt him. Our MPs have hurt him and that is probably why he tweeted that out — think how sad he must have been to say that he will not tweet again, post again or even try to do a boomerang someday.
Which brings us to the question of respect. "I send good morning messages but apart from five or six MPs, no one responds," he told his MPs. The MPs might get busy at times. What about us? Why aren't we stepping up? We should all send good morning messages every day — in our native language. That way we will not forget our language and he will not feel down like this anymore.
I earnestly appeal to the Prime Minister to rethink his decision. But I think he foresaw what a devastating effect it would have on the world and decided to give his social media duties to a woman. Think of the honour. Think of the pride. What an opportunity. I wish I was a woman.
(The author is not in Delhi. He resides in a world far, far away where WhatsApp is a legitimate university with distance learning degrees and Twitter is the medium on which couples take their marriage vows. He is also sickened by the incessant use of hashtags for everything from weddings to bathroom selfies on Instagram and fervently hopes for more yoga pics from our MPs. He will also quit Twitter if the PM does so. Views expressed, are understandably, his own)
