Switching off

Baby steps to a digital detox…

My moment of epiphany came when scrolling through Twitter, I came upon an article on internet addiction, described it as the most widespread malaise of our times. As I scrolled through the piece on my phone (where else?) I realized that I was exhibiting all the classic signs of internet addiction.

What was the first thing I did on getting up in the morning?

I checked my phone to see if any mails or calls had come through while I was asleep.

Did I check my social media feeds even before I brushed my teeth?

Oh yes, indeed. Most mornings, I dropped into Twitter before I visited the bathroom.

Did I turn off my phone at night?

Are you kidding? I don’t think I have turned off my phone for a good year at least. It stays on 24/7, and remains in my vicinity day and night (it has its own little sweet spot on my nightstand, within easy reach, when I go to bed). 

As I read on, getting increasingly concerned, I decided then and there that it was time to conduct a digital detox of sorts. I needed to wean myself off my addiction to the Internet before I got my brain rewired completely (and developed attention deficit disorder in the bargain).

So, over the last week or so, I have been taking baby steps on my way to a digital detox. And here’s what you need to do, for starters, if you would like to join me.

• Turn off notifications: This has made an enormous difference to how I use my phone. Earlier, the ‘pings’ that would announce the arrival of an e-mail or message, an Instagram like or a Twitter mention would distract me countless times during the day. And no matter how hard I tried to resist this siren call when I was working, it was hard not to click on to the phone to see just what was happening in the virtual world. After all, I told myself, it could be something important. (Spoiler alert: it hardly ever was.) But once I turned off the notifications and let the sound of silence fill its space, I found that I could concentrate much better on my actual work, without breaking off to check my social media feeds.

• Turn wifi off on my laptop: Once the Internet is not accessible on your computer, the incentive to take a ‘break’ to surf through news or gossip websites, or even play a game of online Scrabble or Sudoku drops considerably. Speaking for myself, I had a tendency to conduct ‘research’ alongside writing my next book. But before you could say ‘Google’ I had fallen down the rabbit hole of the Net, navigating from one site to another to pursue topics that had no real relevance to what I was working on. Well, that’s all in the past now. Now, I’m all work on the laptop and all play when I’m on my tablet. And that’s working out pretty well for me. Try it.

• Keep your phone out of the bedroom: This is essential if you want to wind down and get a good night’s sleep. The blue light emitted by your phone screen inhibits melatonin production and, thus, prevents you from falling asleep. So, if you insist on scrolling through Facebook or Twitter in bed, well then, you are going to stay awake a while longer. The only way you can get your quota of eight hours sleep is if you stop looking at your phone at least a couple of hours before you retire to bed. And if you have your phone within easy reach, the temptation to take just a little looksee will be hard to resist. Much better to leave it in the living room before you head for the bedroom. If you need to read something before you nod off, reach for a book instead.

• Assign time limits to your social media usage: The best way to do this is to get your social media apps off your phone. If you can’t access your feeds on your phone at a moment’s notice you will, perforce, check into Instagram and Facebook less often. But if that seems like a step too far, well then, you will just have to exert some discipline. Ease yourself out of your habit gently. Allow yourself to check in at hourly intervals at first. Then take a couple of hours in between logging in. And then, when you have weaned yourself off that constant dopamine fix that instant approbation gives, just click on every morning and evening – just enough to keep in touch, and just enough to avoid being sucked in again.

• Carve out a period during the day when you set your phone aside so that you can just be in the moment. Leave it at home when you go for a walk. Switch it off as you have lunch with your mother. Don’t take it into the kitchen when you are cooking dinner. Place it facedown when you have breakfast with the children. Prioritize your real life over the virtual one. Trust me, you won’t regret it.

Red Wedding

Does it really make sense to spend so much on a wedding that you feel bankrupt the day after?

It's official. The Big Fat Indian Wedding is out of control.

I should know. Whenever the wedding season rolls around I end up getting inundated with invites to attend the nuptials of people whom I have never heard of, let alone met. And my! What invitations they are!

They come in elaborately carved wooden boxes, they feature paintings by celebrated artists, and are accompanied by such goodies as hand-made gourmet chocolates, silver mementos, or even little figurines of gods and goddesses. And the only thing I can think of (as I puzzle over who these people may be) is: if the card is so pricey, how expensive will the wedding be?

And the answer to that question is: very.

For starters, it will be held in some scenic location or the other. If the budget is tight (I speak relatively, of course) then it will an exclusive beach resort in Thailand or an opulent palace in India. If money is no object then the map will expand to include Florence, Venice, Vienna, or any other historic European city. Each event will be held at a different venue, and the venue of each event will have a different decor.

The wedding party will be flown down in chartered planes, the most expensive suites in the best hotels will be booked, chefs will be hired from all over the world to cater to the myriad tastes of the guests, champagne and first-growth wines will be on tap, and there will be hairdressers, make-up artists and manicurists galore so that everyone can look their absolute best.

And that's before we even start on the expense of outfitting the bride and groom for the many, many functions they will attend before and after they get hitched. There will be couture lenghas for the bride with matching jewelry and accessories for each outfit. There will be made-to-measure suits and custom-made shoes for the groom. And there will be designer watches for both.

Then, there's the small matter of the trousseau -- or dowry, or whatever you want to call it -- which the bride will be expected to bring with her. Furniture for the house, diamonds for the mother-in-law, designer bags for the sisters-in-law, a luxury car for the husband. And so on, and so extravagant.

And if the wedding is so over-the-top, then the honeymoon must also be suitably stratospheric. A week's skiing in Switzerland or a road trip through French wine country will simply not do. No, this has to be the break of a lifetime, involving private planes, Michelin-star meals, and something truly spectacular, like being given a tour of the Louvre after hours.

As I declined an invitation to one such affair last week, I started to wonder how much this Big Fat Indian Wedding would actually cost. I must confess that I began to feel a bit faint when I totted up the sums, and had to go for a little lie-down. This much money on a wedding? Am sure the Instagram posts and Facebook videos will be awesome. And the neighbors will be totally jealous. But really! Is all that expense really worth it?

Well, I guess it all depends on much spare cash you -- or more accurately, your parents -- have lying around underneath those cushions. But just to put things in perspective, here's a small sample of what you could do with the money instead of spending it on a week-long jamboree.

* Buy a nice apartment so that you can start married life in a home of your own. There will be no interfering in-laws, no pesky house rules to follow, and no mortgage to pay off. And you know what they say about real estate; it always appreciates.

* Already have a lovely home in the best part of Delhi or Mumbai, thanks to Daddy and Mummy? Well then, splash out on buying a holiday home by the sea or in the mountains. How does a chalet in Verbier or a villa in Tuscany sound? Not only could you vacation there for the rest of your life, it could even double up as a venue for the party you throw for your first anniversary.

* Put the money away in a safe investment and use the annual interest to fund a luxury holiday (or three) every year. It should be enough to pay for a cruise around the Mediterranean in a private yacht. Or hiring your own private island in the Caribbean during the winter. Or both.

Just one more thing: Don't touch the principal. That's your nest egg just in case your kids are foolish enough to want a Big Fat Indian Wedding of their own. You don't want to be caught short when -- and if -- that happens.

The Great Escape

When the world gets too much to bear, it’s time to retreat to your ‘happy place’

Yes, I know exactly how you feel. It seems like the world has gone to hell in a handbasket. And you don’t know how you’re going to get through the next month, the next year, let alone the rest of your life.

You’ve spent days trying to live off the loose change you’ve scrounged from around the house. Or you spent endless hours queuing at the bank or at an ATM to get access to your own money. Donald Trump (Donald Trump!) is the new President of the United States. Leonard Cohen died. The list of misfortunes and tragedies seems endless.

So how do we survive in this world, which has begun to seem like such a nasty, brutish place?

Well, I don’t know about you, but I try and do so by going to my ‘happy place’. Which is often not a place at all but a state of mind I achieve by doing what pleases me best.

Here are just some of the things I have been doing over the last week or so to achieve ‘happy place’ status.

·       If you can’t stand the heat, get back in to the kitchen: There is something therapeutic about stirring a pot of rice on the stove to make a comforting risotto for dinner. Or carefully measuring out the ingredients of a gooey chocolate cake and concentrating on getting the mixture just right. Or even using the first meethi of the season to make theplas for breakfast. If all this seems like too much work to you, then crack open a few eggs, add a dash of double cream, salt, pepper, herbs, and stir slowly over very low heat. Pile the mixture on to hot, buttered toast. The world’s troubles will recede with every mouthful.

·       Get lost in the pages of an old book: There is nothing like comfort reading to make you feel better about yourself and the state of the world. And when the horrors of the world threaten to overwhelm, I retreat to the books of my childhood. I just finished re-reading Black Beauty, a birthday present from a young friend who knows me too well. And now I have started on Enid Blyton’s Malory Towers series, in the hope that the adventures of Darrell Rivers and gang will keep me from obsessing over President Trump (yes, yes, I know he’s not my President; but that doesn’t make it any easier). Word of caution: may be a good idea to stay away from the Harry Potter series. All those Voldemort references might come crashing back.

·       Out of the mouths of babes: Spend time with children. Read them stories. Listen to what they got up to in school. Ask them to tell you the latest jokes they heard in class. Get them to share their worries and fears; if nothing else, that will put your worries and fears in perspective. If you don’t have any kids of your own, don’t worry. This is an emergency and you are allowed to borrow them from friends and family. There is nothing like listening to the inconsequential chatter that emerges from children to make you forget the cares of the grown-up universe. (Note: if there are no children handy, just head for the nearest park and watch the kids at play. Their screams and shouts of pleasure will make you feel better about the state of the world.)

·       Schedule a digital detox: If you can’t stay offline during the day because of the nature of your work, that’s fine. But once you get home, put away the smartphone and tune out the constant chatter of the outside world. Don’t peek in to review your friends’ status updates on Facebook. Don’t keep trawling twitter to see (and outrage about) what’s happening in the world. Don’t even check into Instagram to see those carefully-filtered images of perfectly-curated lives. Let the outside world fade away while you listen to music, read a book, or just talk to your loved ones.

·       Watch re-runs of your favourite feel-good TV shows: My own go-to show when depressed is Friends, which I have now seen so many times that I know entire episodes by heart. Modern Family, with its blended families and cute kids, serves as another emotional retreat. And of late, I have taken to binge-watching Gilmore Girls on Netflix as well, while sneaking in a few episodes of Will and Grace. There is certain comfort in retreating to a parallel universe where nothing really bad happens; and there are no nasty surprises because you know exactly what’s coming next.

Well, that’s just a small sample of the many things I did to try and stay sane while the world seemed to run mad. But if none of them work for you, then you could always go to your actual ‘happy place’ and recover your equilibrium. Walk down the flower-edged paths of your favourite park. Take a day trip to the beach with a picnic basket of your favourite treats. Or retreat to the mountains for a weekend of quiet and calm.

And take comfort in the thought that whatever happens, the sun will rise again tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. It may seem like the world has ended; but you will soon discover that the reports of its demise were vastly exaggerated.

Dishing it out

How our relationship with food has changed over the last decade or so

Remember a time when food was just food? When it was something that you ate without thinking too much about it. When the highlight of your weekend was your mom's rajma-chawal (or fish fry or chicken biryani or whatever your comfort food was, growing up). When going out for a meal was something you did only on special occasions, like a birthday or an anniversary. When the only item of food that ever got photographed was your birthday cake -- and that, only because you were in the process of cutting it.

Well, if you are above the age of 30, you probably do. That was probably the last generation to come of age in an environment where food was just food. There was no obsessing about the calorific count of various dishes. There was no concern about the harm that sugar/carbohydrates/fat were doing to your health. Food wasn't something that you obsessed about; it wasn't something to fetishize on TV shows. Cooking was seen as mere drudgery; there was nothing glamorous about whipping up a three-course meal for your friends. And if you eschewed entire food groups on the grounds that they weren't good for you, your mom was more likely to give you an enema than cook a special meal for you.

But, as you may have noticed, things have changed since those innocent days when we mainlined maida (and snorted up industrial quantities of sugar) through the day without giving it another thought. Now, we are all mindful of what we eat. Wholewheat bread rather than white. Free-range eggs, not those produced by battery chickens. Olive oil rather than butter and cream. Lots of vegetables. White meat not red. Steaming rather than frying. And so on and on and on.

We all have a 'food theory' or a fad diet that we subscribe to. Some of us believe in 'clean eating', which translates into lots of fruit and vegetables with minimal cooking involved. Some follow the Paleo diet, eating food that only the Paleolithic man ate. Some still swear by the tried-and-debunked Atkins diet (lots of red meat, cream, cheese, butter, with a side order of cardiac arrest). Some don't let a morsel pass their lips after 7.30 pm in the belief that this will make them thin.

And then, there are those fancy themselves as 'foodies', with an abiding interest in different cuisines and the desire to gorge on them all. They are the ones trying to recreate that dish they saw on Masterchef in their kitchens. They are the ones most likely to whip up a 'mean Thai red curry' or bake a 'flakier than flaky croissant'. They are the ones who plan their holidays around the restaurants they want to eat in. Call them gourmands or gourmets, it matters little. It is food that drives them all.

Food allergies have had their day. Now we justify our exclusionist diets by evoking those two words that strike terror in every hostess' heart: food intolerance. So you have your regular lactose-intolerant folk, who won't have anything made from milk (except dahi, it has something to do with lactic acid apparently; but don't ask me more because the explanation was so boring that I fell asleep halfway through.) And then there are the newly-minted gluten intolerant folk (no, they haven't had tests, silly; they just understand their own bodies so well.) But the truly annoying ones are those who claim to be 'vegan' because it sounds so much more exotic, when they are, in fact, just plain 'vegetarian'.

How we eat has become a status symbol. If you eat parathas and dahi for breakfast you are a bit desi. The truly sophisticated would have rye bread and free range egg white omelette. Rotis or dal chawal for dinner? How very infra dig! You should really be having some grilled fish or chicken with a green salad on the side.

As for how we cook -- well, we cook mostly to show off. The potluck dinner is a thing of the past. Now, the way to impress your friends -- or even your boss -- is to create a restaurant-quality meal in your own kitchen (the more 'exotic' the cuisine, the more the bonus marks). If it's Italian, then an easy-peasy pasta or risotto won't do; you need to put at least an ossobuco on the table. If it's Thai, then a simple curry doesn't cut it; an omelette stuffed with crab would be a better indicator of your skill. If it's 'Continental', then you need to pull out all the stops: savory soufflé, lamb done pink and a chocolate fondant to end. And if it's Indian...well, really, why even bother?

And remember how the food looks is as important as how it tastes. Because, you know, Instagram. And Facebook. And Twitter. That's where all those dishes are destined to live on forever, scooping up likes and compliments, long after the meal is long over.

Because food is no longer simply food, to be wolfed down as soon as it makes an appearance on the table and forgotten soon after. Now, every meal is something to be mulled over, every dish a photo-opportunity, and every ingredient a statement.

So, bon appetit to all you 'foodies'. As for me, since you ask, I'm sticking to my rajma-chawal!

House Rules

If your home is also your office, here's how you can make it work for you

Everyone who has ever worked out of home will recognise that panic that kicks in around 4 pm. That's when you realise that you have spent far too much time a) pottering in the kitchen, fixing lunch, a snack, endless cups of tea/coffee b) surfing aimlessly on the Internet, checking out gossip sites, Googling yourself, stalking your ex c) chatting with your friends on the phone or on Snapchat, depending on which generation you belong to.

Then begins the mad rush to finish in a couple of hours that which should realistically take a day. And before you know it, the evening has come and gone and you are still stuck at work (even though, technically, you are at home).

So, what is the poor, distracted home-worker to do? Well, here are a few tips from someone who's been there, done that, and lived to tell the tale.

* Establish a routine. When you are working at home, with no office to punch into, or a boss to report to, the temptation to slack off can often overwhelm. What is the harm, you ask yourself, in getting up an hour later? Or even taking a long break in the middle of the day? Don't fall into this trap. When there is no routine imposed on your workday, it is imperative that you create one -- and stick to it. Get up a certain time. Carve out a finite amount of time for lunch or tea breaks. And stop working at a certain hour.

* Have a clear demarcation between your work day and your leisure time. Don't start the day by checking mails over breakfast. And don't take your smartphone to bed with you. Create a ritual that indicates that you are ready to start/stop working. It could be fixing yourself one last cup of coffee before you get down to business. Or taking the dog for a walk when you are done, or even hitting the gym. But unless it is an emergency, don't let your work day bleed into your time off - and vice versa.

* Don't neglect to get dressed. No, I am not for a moment suggesting that you are into Naked Typing. Just that when one works out of home, it often seems pointless to get dressed as you would if you were setting out for work. Believe me, it's not. Just the act of getting out of your pajamas/shorts/sweats and wearing proper going-out clothes will make you feel more professional and put together. You will feel that you are working, rather than just faffing around at home.

* Carve out a space in your home that you treat as your work place. It doesn't have to be a room, even a small area in it will do. At a crunch, even a work desk will suffice. But having a specific place within the home where you do your office work is a good aid to concentration. Sitting down there, in front of your computer and surrounded by your work product, is a handy way of proclaiming to yourself that you are now at work.

* Don't always be on call. When you don't work at an office, those who deal with you professionally tend to think that 'office hours' don't apply to you. They expect you to take calls, answer mails, be available around the clock. Make it clear that this is not acceptable. The same rules that apply to office workers apply to you. Just because you work out of your home, doesn't mean you don't need downtime like everyone else.

* No daytime television ever. It doesn't matter what is on. It may be the finale of Downton Abbey or Modern Family that you missed the night before. There may be a great news story breaking (journalists get a pass on this one). Or you may crave a half hour of entertainment while you eat lunch. But whatever the justifications jostling in your head, don't switch the TV on. Or, before you know it, you will be neck-deep in reruns of Friends, and half the work day will be over.

* Stay offline unless you need to use the Internet for your work. If you don't trust yourself, use a laptop that is not connected to your wifi network or chose a spot in your house where the network doesn't work (shouldn't be too difficult given the quality of broadband available to us). That way, the distractions available to you via the Internet will be reduced if not entirely removed.

* Get out of the house at least once a day. Those who work at home, with no social interaction with co-workers, can often go stir-crazy. That's when the temptation to check your Twitter feed, update your Facebook status, glance through Instagram, kicks in. One way of dealing with this is to leave the house at least once during the day. Go grocery shopping. Get a cup of coffee at the neighborhood cafe. Or just go for a walk. That is often the best way of clearing your head and going back to work afresh.

Listening in...

Sometimes all you need is a couple of overheard sentences to get a glimpse into someone's life

Shaming though it undoubtedly is, I have to confess that I am one of the world's eavesdroppers. I go through the day, snatching up fragments of other people's conversations, trying to get a glimpse into their lives through that snapshot in time. Truth be told, I treat the people around me as performers who are putting up a private cabaret, entirely for my entertainment and amusement -- or even as inspiration for my next column. As the late great Nora Ephron once said, everything is copy.

There was a time when I used to practice my craft in restaurants. I loved listening in to awkward conversations of people on first dates. I giggled on the inside as ladies who lunched tore into one of their absent friends. I eavesdropped on the silences that marked long-married couples dining together; more telling than any words could have been. I squirmed as I overheard a couple breaking up messily at the next table. And yet, I kept on listening.

Those days, alas, are long over. No, I still go to restaurants. And yes, I still love to eavesdrop. But sadly, these days restaurants don't offer much in the way of conversations that can be listened to. Everyone is far too busy taking pictures of their food and Instagraming it, posting pithy food reviews on Twitter or updating their Facebook to do anything as mundane as talk to one another. 

Thankfully, however, the voyeur in me has found a different venue to feed my habit. Actually make that several different venues; basically anywhere where I go walking in the evening, whether it is Lodi Garden in Delhi or Marine Drive in Mumbai.

Unlike almost everyone I know, I don't listen to music when I go walking. Nor do I keep my eyes glued to my phone, scrolling down sundry social media sites, messaging a friend or emailing the office. No, that's not for me. I keep my eyes peeled and ears on alert to catch the conversations happening around me. And trust me, it's great entertainment. 

Let's take last evening, when I went on a walk down Marine Drive. There were the usual sights that we all take for granted. The pairs of lovers sitting on the railings, secure in their own invisibility because their backs were turned to the milling crowds on the streets. The sun making a spectacle of its everyday task of sinking into the dark blue waters of the Arabian Sea. And the evening walkers, marching determinedly on, white earphones peaking out of their ears.

But I wasn't interested in any of them. It was the people who were walking in twos, talking animatedly to one another, that interested me. 

There was the young couple, clad head to toe in Lycra, the mom pushing a buggy with a sleeping child in it, the dad carrying baby supplies in his backpack. Mum: "...I don't care what your mother thinks. This is my child, not hers." Dad: "She's only trying to help. You keep saying that no one helps and then when she does..."

That's all I caught as I walked briskly past them. But in those two sentences I could hear their entire story. First-time parents working long hours in office, the doting grandmother filling in as unpaid babysitter, the insecure young mom scared that she was losing control of her child, the harried young father caught between two strong maternal forces. Shorn of its details, it was a story as old as time itself. 

A little further on, I fell into step with two 50-something ladies, walking with the companionable air of old friends. Lady one: "You know that he's gone into rehab, na?" Lady two: "I know. I don't understand why her parents don't just call off the engagement." Lady one: "Arre, he used to spend nights there..." Lady two: "Sorry, but I don't approve of all this nonsense!"

There you have it: the culture clash that characterizes today's India. Two young people, engaged to be married, indulging in a bit of pre-marital sex, leading to shock-horror all around. Mix in a bit of recreational drug-taking and you have the making of a society scandal. Will the rehab take? Will they live happily ever after? Sadly, I'll never know.

As I turned around to retrace my steps to where my car was parked, I found myself behind a couple who were done with necking at the sea's edge and were now walking arms entwined, hips joined, whispering sweet nothings to one another. The phrases 'love you' 'love you more' floated happily in the air, until with a loud gasp, the girl disentangled herself, and whispered agitatedly to her boyfriend, "Stay away, that's my chacha in front." 

We may tell ourselves that we are living in a modern, liberal society. But when two teenage lovers come face to face with a family elders in public, they still experience the same panic that generations before them know all too well. Clearly, the more things change, the more they remain the same. 

That's just one of the life lessons I've learnt on my evening walks. Stay tuned for further updates in the months ahead.

The kids are all right

In fact, the only thing wrong with them is their parents

Question: Do you know what's wrong with kids today? Answer: Their parents. I can't quite remember where I read this, but I remembered it afresh last week. 

I was checking out the sales at the local mall when an urgent mail landed in my inbox. I stepped outside on the balcony and had just begun typing out a reply when a little cannonball came hurtling out of the store, headed straight for me, wrapped his chocolate-smeared hands around my legs, nearly toppling me over in the process. 

I tried to disengage myself gently but he held on with all the strength in his five-year-old arms, crying lustily all the while. I tried to comfort him even as I looked around anxiously for his parents/caregivers. But no one in the store seemed the slightest bit interested in him. 

And then, just as I was about to approach the shop manager, a young woman who had been intently examining the 70 per cent off rack, looked around, saw the child, marched up, dragged him away by the arm, and then, calmly resumed shopping. I assume she was his mother, given that he went without demur, even though she didn't quite fit the description of a parent as I understand it. 

I must admit that I was very tempted to have a few sharp words with her. First, for being completely oblivious of her child in a public place. Two, for just rushing off without even a word of apology. And three, for neglecting to upbraid her child for his behaviour, which wasn't just a nuisance for everyone else but an active danger to himself.

But I counted slowly to ten in my head, took a few deep breaths and then walked away. Because, seriously, what would be the point? And, more importantly, where would it end? I see dozens of examples of this kind of indifferent parenting every single day, extending all the way from benign neglect to senseless spoiling to criminal negligence. 

Just over the last week, I have seen children riding the baggage carousel at the airport while their parents tap away distractedly on their mobile phones; kids running around crowded restaurants without the slightest attempt by their parents to control them; and of course, kids having complete meltdowns in stores because they didn't get what they wanted (in the end, of course, they always do).

I accept that children can be a handful, especially if you have two under five, and I have every sympathy with harried parents who are having a hard time of it. What I cannot understand is why parents feel it is ever acceptable to abdicate all responsibility for their kids in public. It is not the waiter's job to keep your children safe from knives and forks in restaurants any more than it is the air hostess's job to tackle your kid as she runs up and down the aisle.

Honestly, what is up with parenting these days? Why are mums and dads so afraid to lay down the law for their children? Why are they loath to draw boundaries between what is acceptable behaviour and what is not? Why do they live in thrall to the demands of their children? And why are they so terrified of their temper tantrums? 

It is almost as if power has shifted in the family structure from the parents to the children. It is the kids who are in charge not the adults. Not quite the lunatics taking over the asylum, but close.

One reason for this is, of course, that parents have less time to devote to their children. Both mother and father usually work, seeing their kids only in the evenings and on the weekends. In the circumstances, it is perhaps understandable that they want to spend that time doing fun things, and are more willing to overlook bad behaviour or even bad manners.

But more than that, it is also that these days, parents have become devotees of the Cult of the Deified Child. In this cult, the child is the object of worship, the whole world revolves around him, his every wish is treated as a command, and he can simply do no wrong. (I use the pronoun 'his' advisedly because it is usually the male child who is worshipped that way; though pampered daughters are fast catching up.)

This leads directly to the propensity of modern parents to treat their children as minor miracles. They flood their Instagram accounts with cute pictures of their kids; they tweet all day about the absolutely adorable things they say; they Facebook their birthday parties and school concerts; and so on and on and on.

Small wonder then, that these children grow up believing that they are the centre of the universe, that rules of good behaviour or social niceties don't apply to them, that they can do just as they please because even if they screw up there will never be any consequences. Because that is exactly what their parents have taught them.

So yes, the only thing wrong with kids today is their parents. It really is time that they grew up.

Picture perfect

We all like to exert control over our image, so why blame celebrities for their love of air-brushing?

It seems to be an immutable rule of this Internet age that if there is an embarrassing photo (or video) lurking some place in the virtual world, someone somewhere will find a way to leak it. And it is just as inevitable that these photos (or videos) will go ‘viral’; as in people all over the world will be clicking on them to view what was most certainly not meant for our eyes. Then, the chatter on social media will swirl out of control as everyone with a smartphone tries to out-smart the next guy with his one-liners. Columnists like myself will tut-tut about what voyeurs we have become (after taking a good look at the photos/videos, obviously; it’s research, don’t you know?). And then, we will move on effortlessly to the next such ‘scandal’.

And so, after Jennifer Lawrence – whose naked pictures, which she sent to her then-boyfriend, went spectacularly viral a few months ago – it was the turn of Cindy Crawford and Beyonce to suffer the ignominy of a ‘leak’ last week. And to add insult to considerable injury, unlike Jennifer who looked like a Greek goddess in her naked selfies, Cindy and Beyonce looked nothing like their usual selves in the photos that have probably been viewed a few billion times over by now.

Actually, that’s not quite true. Let’s put it this way, instead. Cindy and Beyonce looked exactly like their usual selves – but without the benefit of photo-shopping, air-brushing and sundry other techniques that glossy magazines and advertising agencies use to make women look picture perfect. So, like any other 48-year-old mother of two, Cindy – posing in black lingerie, fur coat and stylish hat – had a few stretch marks along her stomach while her thighs had a faint suggestion of cellulite to them. But that was nothing compared to poor old Bey, who had to contend with photos that showed a crop of acne under heavily-pancaked skin.

So far, so normal. That is what women look like, once they have lived a little (and pushed out a sprog or two). And acne could strike any of us any time (though it usually does just before an important party or, yes, a photo-shoot). So, what was the big deal about these photos being leaked on the net? Nothing at all, really.

And yet, when I looked at the pictures I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the subjects. It is one thing to voluntarily release unflattering (relatively, of course, these ladies couldn’t look anything but gorgeous if they tried) photographs of yourself, either with a view to showing the world that nobody is as flawless as their public personas may suggest or to help other women who are struggling against the tyranny of perfection. But it is quite another to have such pictures released without your consent or even your knowledge, to have the control you exerted over your image for decades wrested away in a matter of seconds.

It is brave to release images of yourself to show the reality behind those glamour pictures that infest the media. But it is a violation to have pictures that show the ‘real’ you – or, for that matter, any pictures at all – released without your permission.

This is as true of celebrities as it is of ordinary folk like you and me. Which of us can say, hand to heart, that we haven’t done a bit of ‘work’ on pictures before posting them on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Pinterest, or whatever other social media site we use? We all delete unflattering pictures the moment after they are taken. We all use photo-shopping and airbrushing apps to the extent our skills allow. And rare is the picture that makes the cut without the judicious application of a filter or two. If a friend or family member tags us with an unflattering picture, we untag ourselves immediately and then harangue them to take the picture down (NOW, if you please!). And if they don’t, unpleasantness usually follows.

That’s the kind of control we exert on our image in the public domain. And that’s when we are not even public figures.

So, if we feel betrayed when ‘unauthorized’ pictures of us make it to social media, how do you think celebrities like Cindy Crawford and Beyonce – whose careers are predicated, in whole and in part, on how they look – feel when their un-retouched images are released and become the subject of public debate.

The truth is that none of us is happy to show her real face to the world. We don’t leave the house unless we have our ‘face’ on; the one we display to the world, with the help of concealers, eyeliners, lipstick, and maybe just the lightest touch of foundation. We bleach, we wax, we tweeze, we pluck, in an effort to improve on Nature’s work. Some of us even go so far as to use Botox, fillers, and other cosmetic procedures to keep the ravages of age at bay.

Nobody looks as good as they do in their Facebook profile pictures of their Twitter DPs (or indeed, in their column pictures!). And that’s fine. It is our inalienable right to present our best faces to the world. And each of us has the right to control our own image, both in the private and public domain.

So, why deny Cindy and Beyonce the control that we take for granted?

Life, camera, boredom

If you photograph every moment as being ‘special’ then soon there will be no ‘special moments’ at all

Have smartphone; will take pictures. That seems to be the motto everyone lives by these days. So, no moment of our day goes undocumented, no meal is eaten before first being captured on camera, and everyone from pets, children, spouses, friends, lovers, passers-by, get photographed several times in the course of a day. If we are on holiday, things tend to get completely out of hand, as we chronicle every moment as it happens, just to be sure we are not missing out on documenting something really important. And that’s not counting the selfies, the self-portraits we take obsessively, day in and day out.

And it’s not as if these pictures just live on our smartphone memory cards. The process isn’t complete until every image (except the unflattering ones that are deleted instantly) is posted on some social media platform or the other for your friends, family, colleagues, and complete strangers to ‘like’ or ‘favourite’, or respond to with a gushy comment or two.

I really have no problem with this. If taking pictures incessantly and sharing them with the world is what rocks your boat, then go right ahead (though I hope you won’t mind if I avert my gaze discreetly). But I do wonder if in this mad race to let no moment go unrecorded, we are losing out on something that all of us deserve: those special moments that are captured on camera and trigger off happy memories every time we see them.

My generation has plenty of those. There are the grainy baby pictures taken by the proud dad in the first flush of parenthood, which still evoke a smile even though the composition often leaves a lot to be desired and the picture quality has deteriorated over time. There are those photos that freeze-frame our awkward phase, as we pose for the school photographer at a Teacher’s Day or Children’s Day function or even at the annual prize-giving ceremony, and which our children giggle at snidely. There are the honeymoon pix, immortalizing the fashion of a decade that style forgot, which make us wonder: ‘Did I really wear that? What was I thinking?’

But for all their cheerful amateurism, their potential for embarrassment, their sheer cheeziness on occasion, these photos are like a window into a more innocent, happy time, when there were no filters to make everything glow, when realism held its own against fakery and photo-shop. These pictures still have to power to move us, whether it is to laughter or tears, joy or sorrow. They are little vignettes of our past, which unlock memories that we had thought lost forever.

Will that pleasure ever be available to Generation Cameraphone? After all, how special can any one memory be if every single one of them is immortalized in a photograph? If every moment is seen as special, and worthy of being frozen on camera, then is any moment truly special? If you chronicle every living moment does any one moment remain memorable?

The truth is that pictures tend to lose their power and poignancy when there are so many of them that your primary emotion is of being overwhelmed by sheer numbers. And going by the way everyone tends to go bonkers the moment they get access to a cameraphone, we will all soon be completely swamped by pictures of our every living-breathing moment, lovingly altered by a flattering filter. But none of them will have the ability to truly move us, because while familiarity may not breed contempt it will certainly engender boredom on a colossal scale.

So, we may well be the last generation to have our memories encased in photo-albums that are pulled out at family reunions, and laughed and cried over in equal measure. The ones who come after us will have seen it all on Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, and Whathaveyou, and been bored out of their skulls in the process. The last thing they will want is to look at another picture. And if they do look at it, their first instinct will be to mouth ‘like’ and move on, instead of reliving the moment it freeze-frames.

What they will have is gimmicks. A series of selfies shot every day for a period of ten years, put together in a time lapse, to show how a cute little boy/girl grew up into a moody/handsome/sexy grown up. Travel pictures manipulated to show rainbows even when none appeared; landscapes digitally altered to show hues that don’t exist in nature; and of course the wonders of photo-shop applied indiscriminately.

But all this trickery will not be enough to create the immediacy of the photographs of another time, those that were special for being taken only on special occasions, those that had meaning because they captured meaningful events, and those that live on forever because they encapsulate the best moments of our lives.

As for us, I fear that we will soon become a society that misses the wood for the trees. Or, in words that Generation Cameraphone can understand, a society that will miss the images for the hashtags.