These days, I find myself utterly saturated with social media. The moment I pick up my phone, there’s a reflexive urge to open Instagram—to check who’s liked my pictures, to see who’s sent me a message. But what greets me more often than not is a reel. Just a forwarded reel. No greeting. No message. No real thought.
And within these reels, there could be something to say, of course. But no one seems to want to say it. Gone are the days when someone might send a poem, or a quote that made them think of you. Now, it’s all mindless content—videos that aren’t remotely funny, often accompanied by that insufferable, artificial background laughter I utterly abhor.
I suppose this is just the sign of our times.
So I’ve found myself pulling away. I don’t use my phone as much anymore. I go on social media only when necessary. I’ll put up a post now and then, perhaps out of a quiet desire to remain ‘relevant’—whatever that means—but even if I’m not, I’ve made my peace with that. I don’t fuss with hashtags anymore. I write what I feel, connect it to the photograph I’m sharing, and that’s that.
What keeps drawing me back, really, are the friends. The connections I’ve made on social media mean something. I remember how vibrant it felt during the lockdown—going live, making videos on TikTok, the spontaneity of it all. TikTok, in particular, had an algorithm that worked with you, not against you. It made the video-making process feel fluid and intuitive. Reels, in contrast, feels like a clumsy attempt to fill the vacuum left by TikTok’s ban in India. It simply doesn’t have the same finesse, and I often give up midway through making something.
These days, I browse through stories, maybe glance at my PS5 app. Occasionally, I stumble upon something brilliant on ChatGPT—some insight, some gem of knowledge. But it, too, is a paid service, and eventually, I run out of access for the day. I don’t even like reading on my phone anymore, though I do have a Kindle and a Books app with a few poetry anthologies. When I feel the pull, I’ll read a poem or two.
Phone calls never did appeal to me much. It’s strange to think that this sleek, beautiful device—once an extension of myself—is now being used less than ever. Two or three years ago, I would have been constantly on it. Now, not so much.
As for Twitter—yes, I’m calling it Twitter because X sounds like a porn channel. And let’s be honest, that’s what it’s become for many. I’ve nothing against porn, but Twitter has devolved into a space of relentless hate. It’s vituperative, caustic, and yes—toxic. I don’t use that word lightly, but it fits here.
I do have a Blue Sky account now. It’s a gentler place, kinder in tone. But truly, most of what I want to say these days, I say in my blog. I’ve begun consolidating my poetry, my art, my photography, and my prose—all in one space. And in doing so, I feel a sense of wholeness. A sense that I’m putting something meaningful out there.
Perhaps someone will read it. Perhaps they’ll resonate with it. Perhaps not.
But it’s mine. And it’s real.
I don’t know how many of you will agree with what I’ve said, but this is where I stand. This is how I feel these days.
And maybe you feel it too.
Hearts Still Care 
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