Vitamin T and other needs

     
     OK, so I am officially part of the world of twitwits (my term), or the twitterers or the tweeples or the twitterati; call them what you will.
     Am I ashamed of it? Yes.
     Am I doing it anyway? Yes.
     From the last time I looked, I am 18 days, 55 tweets, 26 followers, 83 followings and 18 direct messages old on Twitter and the handle that is used to carry all this senselessness is Urmi_Chanda_Vaz. Not bad, I'd say. At the going rate of more than one new follower per day, my vanity is being fed by the mouthfuls and my ego looks nice and curvy (oh dear, I can already hear the borderline obesity warning go beep-beep-beep!). Celebs must think similarly when their follower numbers hitch up by a few thousands per day.
     Twitter has taken the vain world by storm and anyone who is someone (and even no ones like yours truly) has something significant to say to the world...or at least they think so.
     And why not, I ask? When you have hundreds lapping up highly important facts like Salman Khan craving for a pizza or Gordon Ramsay cooking bull balls or OMG, Amitabh Bachchan taking a bucket bath, why shouldn't they tweet? Sample this: "Oh, you're my hero, my God, Amit ji sir ji...use balderdash soap for your divine skin and RT please." Now is there anything even remotely insane about this tweet? No. Because if Mr. Bachchan can tell you he's gracing the bathroom, Mr. Fan can tell him to retweet this gorgeous piece of literature.
     The inanity of the Tweetosphere is scary, sometimes funny and sometimes plain maddening.  That is why I had kept off Twitter for so long. That's what allowed me to indulge in some glorious derision. Oh, what fun it is to look down upon something that's so large.
     But then Social Wavelength happened. I opened a Twitter account as part of my job description, stooped low to see what happens down there and got sucked into that inimitable vanity trap that is Twitter.
     It is easy to fall prey to flattery. Yeah, it's no rocket science. It's man in all his 'social animal' glory that seeks acknowledgement, approval, acceptance and adulation from his fellow animals. My greatest victories are won when I speak and you nod. I say, you listen. I lead, you follow. Imagine the rush one feels, then, when others find you worthy enough to 'follow' you. When even the likes of Sachin Tendulkar have succumbed to the need for affirmation, what chance do us mere mortals have? We hate to follow the herd, but do it all the same, 'coz that's where the grass is.
     The need to be better than Tom, Dick and even Harry never abates. It just keeps getting bigger and stronger every time there's a DM, or an RT or a reply to your tweet. We try harder, we tweet smarter and we wait longer for just one more nod. Our selves have become dependent on Vitamin T and we need larger doses everyday to keep our fragile egos from collapsing. In the end, we all end up virtual wayfarers dropping in cheesy 140 characters hoping someone...anyone will notice us and follow us; our insecurities hashtagged forever.