e Magus

There is something prophetic about the movie title “Four Weddings and a Funeral.” In real life, for most of us, it could be one, two, or three occasions. The number is not the import, the import is that’s roughly how often we meet people who once mattered to us. Old family friends, relations one generation up, neighbours from the homes we grew up in — all exist somewhere in our phones, remembered but unreached. We know their birthdays because Facebook reminds us, and we acknowledge them ‘enthusiastically'   with a cheerful emoji, a quick wish, a sense of obligation fulfilled. We even find ourselves in their cities sometimes — for work, for weddings, or for a holiday — but rarely do we think of meeting. “Next time,” we tell ourselves, comforted by the thought that their faces are just a click away. The photograph on our feed becomes proof that the relationship is still alive. Once upon a time, we didn’t need reasons to meet. People simply dropped in. Someone would be passing throug...

There was a time when opinion was formed in public spaces. The village square, the tea shop, the office water-cooler, or the pubs (pub is actually a short form for ‘public house’)—these were places where ideas were exchanged, debated, often loudly. Today, our new square is a green-and-white screen. WhatsApp has become the digital equivalent of the chowk, but with one key difference: it is quieter, more efficient, and infinitely more manipulative. In its early years, WhatsApp was just an SMS that didn’t cost money. We sent festival greetings, birthday wishes, and bad jokes accompanied by even worse clipart. But somewhere along the way, it became more than a messenger — it became a mechanism. A space where information was not just shared, but shaped. Consider the resident WhatsApp group — an invention that has redefined the way we live together. It is part bulletin board, part kangaroo court, part stand-up comedy stage. A lost slipper gets the same urgency as a missing child. A dog-bite ...