Skip to main content

My Facebook Man

For long, he was a non facebooker. The types, you know, who would rather pick the phone in lieu of chats or emails. Perhaps the man likes to stay within the realm of the old world charm, I thought! But with a new phone, or his toy as he calls it, in his possession – it has Facebook on Android, which means there are a slew of fixes and is faster – Lolo’s resistance to Facebook is on the wane.

When I first set up Lolo’s account (he did have an account earlier which he deleted after reading how Facebook intrudes privacies), I told him that this time he could use his discretion to select friends. My idea to bring him on the Facebook fold was to make him a part of my cackles over comments/postings/photos etc.  

Of course, life does not feel finite with a Facebook but it is a good past time and the best way to stay in touch with friends whom I miss. Then there is the other side that you end up accumulating so many unwanted friends. Like weeds, they need pruning. I mean it does not make sense to have friends who I met once or worked together but never interacted because we just don’t interact on Facebook too. And that’s when they qualify for perfect strangers. I like interaction, a 'like' or a 'how are you' sometimes. So my recent exercise in weaning of friends did prove therapeutic.

Back to Lolo. With a few friends whom he is comfortable with in his Facebook kitty, I love the grin on one of his rare moments of looking at Facebook. I also feel I am his support tech team. 

“Is it Facebook etiquette to poke back if someone pokes at you?”

“Of course. You are not poking skin to skin. You are doing a virtual poke!”

“Am I allowed to like a ‘like’?”

“Do what you want!”

“Oh, but we gotta work together as a team...”

“I have friend requests. Who is P Singh, Who is K Singh....”

“DDDdddooon’t ignore, one is my uncle, the other is my cousin.” 

I realise I have inadvertently set up Lolo with freaking Facebook. How long this tie-up last remains to be seen. For the moment, I don’t mind being his answering machine or support system!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Mad Man Or A Boor

What does one do when one encounters a mad dog? Or what does one do when one encounters a man with pre-fixed notions about everything in life, most specifically of women who live alone and give him some importance? The two are equivalent to me and basic intelligence says avoid the paths they tread like plague. But I chose to tackle them head on. I almost got rabbies. The mad man said [sic] " You sound like a very desperate person. A single and frustrated woman who is looking for anyone to leave a comment on your blog so much so that you wouldn't even spare a spammer ." Spammer being, the first comment on the previous post is apparently a spam, an advert for T-shirts. Bummer! I thought it was a handsome Spaniard or Latino, so I had replied "Hi Rodrigo", hoping to take the conversation forward offline. Anyway! All this the mad man found out. I didnt. Sure, I dig comments because I love the spontaneity and intelligence of my friends. And I didn't invite the ma

O-B-A-M-A

Two million people at the National Mall in Washington alone. The world watched too as Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States. So did I. I rudely cut roomie's soap operas and switched to CNN to witness history being created. Some day I may live to tell the tale of how Barack, the much touted Afro-American President of the United States, stumbled with his swearing-in oath. I was a bit disappointed as I watched the man who had run the most successful of election campaigns, the man who Americans were pinning their hopes on, take his oath. Clearly, he was under too much of a pressure to be the best. So before Chief Justice John Roberts could complete the first sentence, there was Obama abruptly breaking out into his first names... " I Barack Hussein Obama.." and then waited for the judge to complete the sentence.. The next line was even taxing. He stopped short after two words... " That I will excute ..." and then Justice Roberts cont

Good Girls Don't Drink?

I have been disturbed by the news coming out of my region – the northeast of India - where a teenage girl coming out of a bar at 9:30 pm was molested and beaten by a group of 20 men. The news has even found its way down under for the shocking nature of it. Tabloids and even TV have carried the news. I have always prided myself in belonging to a region that is known for its high tolerance and where women are generally safe and independent. But I have always felt a bit squidgy about Guwahati unlike the rest of the seven sisters. The place is so like the rest of India in many ways, dirty and claustrophobic. That explains why bars are looked upon as sleazy places and women going there beaten up as with the recent case. Just 150 km away is Shillong, the place where I grew up. Night clubs thrive there and till date there has been no case of attacks against women. Reading the news, I am appalled by some of the reactions. “But the girl was drinking,” or “only prostitutes visit that