Facebook newsfeed is so wrong

A few days ago, a roommate of mine was scrolling down his timeline, until he found a random "mechanical" joke, and was sharing it with me. It turned out that I had to point out that I was the one who shared that post. Some deep thoughts had to follow. We, the youth of today, not teenagers, only the youth are not using the Facebook today like we used to, or for that matter of fact, like it was intended to be. It was meant to be social networking, where people connect with each other, and learn about each other too, however useless it was. But, what do we do today? An average youth today spends most of his/her uncounted time on Facebook. And what do we see? Scoopwhoop, laughing colours, 9gag, thatscoop, buzzfeed and all. This is more of a news an average addict follows. 

Facebook Inc had strategically manipulated our newsfeed through years until we ended up here today. Not that it is bad or something, but we are missing out the basic purpose of connecting with people. We are connecting ideas, philosophies, humors, sciences and more. Whilst it can be seen as a successful business strategy from Facebook to have succeeded in succumbing the entire contents into it, it will sound equally disgusting that Facebook is now least serving its primary purpose, much like a mobile phone. If you are not in unison with what I'm saying, I'd like to congratulate on your immunity towards websites with arbitrary interpretations and data services. Keep calm. What further? 

3 years ago, when Facebook first came up with the idea of close friends' list, it was to notify the important friends' happenings. Today, I see that these notifications are the only things I get to know about friends, disregarding. display pictures and some life events. Mostly, not all though. Now that I wish you're also nodding and wagging your heads, let me tell you, you need to clean up your feeds until this content is diminished below a certain margin, and lots of feed comes from your friends. May be , you can try blocking or unliking a couple or more pages you are least interested in, clear preferences which manipulate the feed by continuously feeding from the people you have put up your thumbs to, and trying to revolutionize back into friends. 

Happy addiction. Hail "disown the websites" revolution.

Reflections

It's past 10 pm, lights racing past the tinted window of the bus, a shadow over the other side of the bus was speaking to me. I could hear it's voice, but inaudible it was.

It was not heard by the young girl, probably in her teens, sitting in a seat front of me, speaking over her phone. She was talking casually to her old friend, to whom she didn't talk for past two months, or so it seemed. She had a guy dump her recently. She says, "the guy who was with me two months ago, supporting me in every decision I took in my life, telling me I was beautiful did not stick to me when I said I cannot hold it. He just moved away saying, what's the point if you don't love me. And now, he does the exactly same affectionate thing to someone else. And ends up telling me that he's got into a relationship with her. He didn't have any fixed emotions." There was a touch of grief as she spoke the last sentence. I was listening intensely looking at the shadow. I could see her reflection look back to find an older guy, me, sitting behind her. She instantly pushes her strap under her pink top. The shadow said "Insecurity is a very strong defence. It makes you stronger, and less vulnerable. She is growing into reality. Turning from her fairytales. Gaze at her, make her stronger." I fix my gaze at her, expecting her to notice, but she's busy on the phone. I give up staring to watch around.

There was another lady, in her early twenties, may be. Clad in her black coat and skirt, over a white shirt, completely fit. She held her phone to her ear. Yes, she was on the phone too. I paid attention to her, eavesdropping is bad, but nevermind. She resigned to her job, and is moving to Singapore for higher studies. She was talking to her "baby" who was just asking questions to keep the conversation up. A why for a pause seemed his top trick to flirt. She says, "I am going to study Very large scale integration in my masters. Do you even know what it means. *pause* You used to call me a dumb blonde. See, I am not as dumb as you think I am. I'm even getting stipend and scholaships at NUS. *pause* I want to end working early, piling up dollars by 40, and getting into my swinging armchair by 50. *pause*" That eager shadow says, " look at her who studies for a settled life. People prefer higher studies to earn money. No one understands what it means. People plan as if life is their chess game. No one understands its more of a snake and ladders than it seems to be. Everyone thinks Steve Jobs is their role model and "connect the dots" is their only commandment. And that is why people don't want to live on this planet anymore.

The voice was inaudible to the third guy who sat on the last seat too. He was using headphones after all. The way he was making expressions on his phone confirmed the selfiesh addiction. All the world is losing its power of memory and time is the smoke of hash#tags. We are living fake lives.

We are turning education to be more about progress reports than progress. We are mistaking the dire need for support to be need for affection. We are creating lives wherein people look into the screen in their hand, wrapping a 800 metres building into 800 pixels and nothing more. The shadows stop speaking to us, because the screen is too bright.

Thanks for the eye-opener, Ash. You are the best critic I ever had.

I do what I want

Clad in branded plain black suits,

stamping clean and shiny new boots,

iPhone shining past their coat, 

into closed chambers some do float, 

paying in cheques they hate to count, 

piling pennies in their account, 

are these countless gentlemen, 

their dreams limited to the pen.

Some work in cool airs nine to five, 

for prestige and fame they do thrive, 

all they know is their own high, 

how happy are they, they do lie, 

they do things they never knew, 

and do nothing that is new, 

scientists they are, O hypocrisy, 

literate they are, such illiteracy.

There is a writer I see earning tons,

but his typewriter never runs, 

there is an engineer I heartily adore, 

he just works like a swinging door, 

there's a violinist I always love, 

she just plays on the top of a stove, 

all these people lost their dream, 

in the ill waters of money fame stream.

I serve those feeble gentlemen, 

by hatching their eggs into a lovely hen, 

I teach the fruits of masters of science,

because they gave it up in their whines,

I see my dreams not when I sleep, 

I know I don't make a cognizant heap, 

I too don't idle on a daily beat, 

I seek the delicacies of a cognitive treat.

I do teach, it's not any fault, 

I don't preach, my life isn't at a halt.

I am the one who knows I enjoy, for I am deaf to your taunt, 

I am the dream I saw as a boy, for I do what I want.

Monday morning 2

The last cool breeze towards the sea, over my face did it flow free.
The sun was up burning in glee, as I stood under the shade of a palm tree.
All the night did I restlessly walk, every party animal did I curiously stalk,
I heard them laugh and sob and talk, in voices of a kid who ate the chalk.

Red and black short skirts they wore, as high as one could call them a whore.
Their glossy lips in smiles that bore, in silence did their jealousy roar.
Smiles and hugs and kisses on cheeks, and more poses from the selfie freaks,
attention is what each one seeks, on a phone wherein no one speaks.

They met over tequila shots, and drank over like new mud pots,
as their gait stumbled from the spots, where their friends were but shiny dots,
each would kneel and sob the pain, till the mascara on silks did rain,
ditching and bitching is their complain, in the city which knew no rain.

The rich party had jewels rare, the hosts had their fair own share,
the profiles had some backs bare, the likes sprang up like a morning hare,
but none saw her passion tears, all knew fashion but none her fears,
none knew what was between her ears, none saw her soul but all her years.

Clad in the best leather jackets were men, whose bikes would roar like lions ten.
Their muscles knew rods more than pen, all of them met in the alien den.
They watch the ball being kicked and hit, they speak of how one stays fit,
they tell all stories of valour and grit, but none can speak in humorous wit.

They meet over the chilled beers, and turn into bulls in three cheers,
reds and blacks are their steers, and to the ladies their herd nears.
A couple of punches in the face, one trades the hash for golden brace,
some machine freaks would run a race, some would vanish in a witch's trace.

The rich party had cars of gold, the hosts had got a booty to hold,
changing was the man defined to be bold, over all drugs stealthily sold.
The valour was also put to stake, in the casino of the unholy mistake,
none knew why their muscle did bake, if not for the girls' eyes' sake.

Like its people who didn't know why,
like its birds that never fly,
like a beautiful moronic lie,
on a Monday morning slept Dubai.

Circle

The world is going round and round, 

and leaping always over the bound, 

the world is like a hungry hound, 

the meat of change is what it found.

We see men who lack all hairs, 

we see women who trekk in lairs, 

we witness when they are not in pairs,

studs to studs and fairs to fairs. 

We evolved to civilize the ape, 

from waters to juices of grape, 

from cottons to pieces of cape, 

from strong men to men who rape.

We don't see for our eyes are stuck, 

in the screens where colors' muck, 

that nature's clock had now struck, 

the hour when we inverse luck.

We can't dodge or we can't duck, 

we shall barter and hate the buck, 

we will go back to the wild fuck, 

it's all our luck stuck in fuck muck.