Is Facebook the new Diary?

When I was a kid many moons ago, I had a diary. Every once in a while (I would love to say every day, but...) I would visit the Diary and pen my thoughts. What was wonderful in the day, the friends I made, the goal I scored, all the things that made it a glorious day. I also shared with my Diary the things that made me sad, about someone who said something nasty, the teacher who made me stand in the corner, the fall that resulted in a bruised knee.

My Diary was my friend and privy to my deepest thoughts. And it was a very very personal piece of possession. Not even my closest friend could take a peek at the scrawly writing that filled its pages. Invariably it was tucked away somewhere, hidden from all public view, to be visited in the confines of my own thoughts, away from prying eyes, a confessional as it were, of all things good and bad. Sometimes days went by and the Diary remained tucked between the folds of the mattress or between neatly ironed shirts. And then one day something would happen and the Diary would be taken out and the thoughts poured out.

Yes, my Diary understood me and empathised with me. It was my closest friend, my confidante, the one who would not judge, but just be there alongside whenever I needed him. Or was my Diary a “her”. For sure, there was a deep sense of understanding, an innate quality to gauge what the mood was, never a word in anger, always quiet, dependable, with a shoulder to cry on and delicate fingers to wipe the tears away. I remember the High 5s we exchanged, long before it became a cult action. The four fingers and thumb drawn all the way to the wrist signifying something that made me happy.

Sometimes happiness came in the form of a dish mother had prepared after a long time. Sometimes it was about the ice cream walks. At other times it was the peacock that came visiting and perched on the roof for a while. The sunset painting the sky in all colours of the spectrum. The impossible goal I scored. The adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer, or the loaf of bread that Oliver Twist so desperately wanted. The choice between cakes and bread. Alexander the Great. There were many memories that my Diary and I shared. Those were good days.

The world has become fast paced and extremely small. When I was in hostel, I used to write home in a postcard that would take forever to reach my parents. By the time a reply came, a month would have passed by. I remember writing in tiny characters to cram in as much as I could. I would look forward to a reply from home. Today it takes nanoseconds for that same process. 140 characters rules our world, not pages full of thoughts and musings. In the process we have forgotten grammar, punctuation, spellings. We have become informal in our correspondence and when I look at some official letters written by an executive of today, frankly I do not find it “kewl”.

But I digress.

It has become a smaller world, a world of instant gratification. We are increasingly looking at external factors to allay our fears and share in our joys. While I was happy sharing the taste of the masala dosa with my inanimate Diary, today I would take a picture of the plate full of dosa, then wiped clean of every morsel and share it across the world on my Facebook feed. “Yummy breakfast today” my status update would proudly state. If someone had been harsh on me, I would immediately start typing looking for sympathy from my friends list. Once posted I would wait staring at the screen for the likes and comments and shares. The F5 key would be overexerted and people would pour in with sundry comments, justifications, quotable quotes, or just ask “Wat hppnd?”

Is this a change for the better? I really don’t know. Personally, I would rather keep my thoughts to myself and share my deepest feelings with my Diary. I am happy with the solace that it provides. Maybe I am an introvert and am not a touchy feely sharing kind of person. Maybe others are and unless the world knows about the rash on the dimple that developed after a shot of Tequila in the backyard while chatting up with a friend we met after 32 years, we are not satisfied. It has become a very public world.

Is it a good thing or bad thing? I have no idea. The world evolves and is in a continuous state of change. Maybe my parents thought that writing in a Diary was a waste of time and one should rather talk to the father or the mother about what disturbs them or makes them happy. I was happy with my Diary. Today people are happy with Facebook. And Twitter. And Instagram. And Pinterest. And WhatsApp. And the many other such modern day diaries. We will have to wait and see how the language of English develops over the years.

But one thing is for sure ... Facebook is the modern day version of the age old personal Diary.