I was walking down the street today. My eyes met with those of a girl. Nothing unusually unusual till now. That also depends on what is unusual. Finding the book "Zen and the art of Motorcycle maintenance" on the display of every second-hand book-stall, now that's a wee bit unusual. But that book has already been ticked off my to-read-books list. So I wasn't much concerned about it popping up right in my face everywhere i looked. Actually, it did concern me a little.
Repeatedly seeing this version of the book's cover does leave you thinking if you're tripping on something very potent. But nevertheless. I kept walking until the girl's eyes met with mine. She wasn't very attractive, to be honest. But there's something about human eye-contact that grips you, regardless of appearance. That said, I still didn't feel anything sexual about the way the girl held my gaze. Doesn't matter. She crossed my way, and something really strange happened there. She spoke. Her voice, very irritatingly shrill, took me by surprise. It was all the more irritating when words flew out of her mouth at about 450 words a minute. 350 words per minute is the maximum ideal rate of speech for easy comprehension. 450 is painful! And she didn't sing any love lullabies. Here's what she said...
"Sir, we are collecting donations for an education program for underprivileged children. We are from some *&%$# NGO. Would you like to contribute?"
That was when I was struck by a realization that if you're in India, and your eyes meet with those of a woman, and the woman has the audacity to hold your gaze, you are either dreaming, or you are part of an NGO waiting to grab hold of someone's money, or you are the girl I've had a very hard time getting over. Wait, what?!
Ladies aside, walking on the road, it feels like all everyone's busy doing is avoiding looking into another one's eyes. Like they have a secret to hide. All looking down, somewhere into an unknown abyss, heads hanging low in shameful contemplation.
Now, some serious talk. There's something extremely empowering about working in a magazine company, or for that matter, any place that produces readable/consumable content of any kind. You get to see, and in essence, control what your target audience gets to see, and know. It all happens behind the scenes, the stories we read, the pictures we see, and all that amazing stuff that comes packed between those set of 100 odd glossy pages. And then you get behind the scenes, only to be surprised that there is nothing elusive about the stuff that reaches the consumer, the readers here, like clockwork.
The word 'Subscribe' is thrown around with great ease, specially with the advent of Youtube. Earlier, it was a term virtually owned by the print-media industry. And there was a reason for that, which still remains a valid reason even today. A subscription doesn't end with the payment one makes for a particular service, a magazine, case in point. What one subscribes to is the manner, perspectives, outlooks, and even philosophies that our services provide us with, solely because that resonates with our own understanding of the world. Yeah, I know. Too much jargon there. In other words, we tend to drift towards things that reinforce, justify, and even build upon our world beliefs.
Some like to see the world in a very stylish light. They don't mind the brash exuberance, and the arrogance of the way things can be. At the same time, there are those who want a more sedate, mollified feed of information, which can at times, border on underestimating the consumer's intelligence.Almost like one set of people read books to keep the mind occupied, and another set read whatsapp forwards for entertainment. Mind you, there are no goods or bads here. Only choices. A simpler example? Guys are either boobs-people, or arse-people. And somewhere between the two, there are also the legs-people. Personally, boobs are fine. But derrières are mindbogglingly sexy! Now I'm not sure who's going to come and beat me up.
| The word on the button is means a lot more than a statistic on a Youtube channel. |
Wow! My writing's putting me to sleep.
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