Connected, yet alone.

Even the most introverted of us aren't completely asocial. There is always that need to be validated, accepted and appreciated, unless you’re some monk.

We are always connected to our digital avatars, socializing with over a thousand other phantoms plugged in. It’s so convenient to post minute by minute updates about yourself and your life and starting to believe this false notion how all of us are one big connected family.  But are we, really? Our relationships are sometimes just one log out/deactivate button away from ending. Poof! And the phantom is no more.

Somewhere, something seems to be lost. Social networking has made our communication easier and at the same time there’s lesser meaning attached to it. A snippet of conversation shared in the real world has the power to metamorphose into a memorable experience that could evoke the same memories and rush of emotions actually felt in the past. It’s not just the words that are an essential component of our communication but the warmth of the actual presence, the soul stirring eye contact, the magic of touch and the unspoken language of the two individuals in the same time-space coordinates. I shudder to think the hopelessness that will ensue when we all will finally acknowledge the futility of the current model of social networking.

Today, there is a bombardment of messages and a lot to escape from an offline life. More so on days when you suddenly become important because it is your birthday. I have this weird habit. I switch off my phone and deactivate all my online accounts to enjoy a depressing existential crisis every birthday. The reason being, the wishes or tweets or messages are nowhere as real as the sentiments they proclaim to display.

Let the Internet be a tool for documenting memories and keeping a track of interactions because without external stimulation we all would go insane. Meanwhile, remember that isolation is standing, smirking in the background as we fool ourselves in the illusory World Wide Web, waiting to grip its steely fingers on us at our vulnerable best.