Having friends living in different continents means my WhatsApp is constantly whistling. It’s like a lullaby to which I fall asleep.
Some of these friends seem to get up at the crack of dawn and immediately start messaging. There’s the thought for the day, the must-see video and the blow-by-blow account of the previous day or plans for the day.
Since they are all close friends, I will scroll through all these but reserve the right to not respond unless imperative. That’s because often a response triggers another tsunami of communication and keeping up with the flow can be tiring.
There are also the exchange of recipes and detailed accounts of what’s cooking. Pictures are sent of delicious meals in preparation or ready to eat. Now this I find frustrating. What’s the use of letting me know what you’ve rustled up if I’m not going to be allowed to taste? Why condemn me to a life like that of Tantalus? Isn’t it a form of sadism to tease my taste buds and leave me unsatisfied?
The group is slowly expanding and that’s a good thing for sure. You are now in touch with people you might ordinarily hear from once in several years. The latest entrant has never been known to be the communicative sort in the sense that she was happy to see us whenever we met but made no effort to keep in touch. Letter-writing was out of the question and emailing was alien to her. But, like many other parents, she has obviously undergone a technological makeover, courtesy her tech-savvy kids. Most mums jump on the bandwagon simply because they are wise enough to know that this is one way they can keep tabs on what their children are up to.
Now she’s making up for lost time. She has received a warm welcome from everyone and, since she was out of the loop for years, there’s an awful lot of catching up to do.
I recently forwarded a photograph of me with a friend who was visiting Dubai. That was a mistake. Since she wasn’t known to most of the group, I had to explain her connections, if you know what I mean. Someone knew her sister, another knew her brother-in-law and so on. Slowly, after a lobbing of information back and forth, peace reigned once again. In fact, some even added to her biodata as their memory was nudged into recall.
After everyone was satisfied, I felt exhausted. A lesson had been learnt. Do not post pictures if there’s a lot of explaining to do. But it looks like I’m the only one who lacks the patience to draw up a family tree and painstakingly give details of every branch.
But there is therapeutic value for many. The person with a medical problem is showered with advice and attention. The one overwhelmed by work demands receives sympathy and encouragement. The nervous mother-in-law-to-be fretting over not finding the perfect dress and whether she will be able to deliver an impressive speech on the day is reassured time and time again. She is told she will be successful in her search for a knock-out dress and that in any case she will look gorgeous whatever she wears (balm for any woman’s soul). As for her oh-my-God-what-am-I-going-to say-in-my-speech, her confidence is lifted as nuggets of wisdom are thrown at her like confetti — such as the sage advice not to forget to praise the bride.
Now that’s powerful counsel for any prospective mother-in-law. Keep your son’s wife happy and you don’t have to worry about your precious child’s wellbeing.
So, the agony aunts thrive in our group, doing what they do best — lifting spirits, acting as a sounding board and commiserating.
