From Telegrams to Spam-a-Grams

Ah, the festive season. A time for joy, reflection, and… an inbox apocalypse. Once upon a time, in the sepia-toned era of the 70s and 80s, sending festive wishes in India was a Herculean task, requiring forethought, stamps, and possibly a small bribe to the local postman. Today? My phone resembles a digital dumping ground for forwarded fluff – some genuinely sweet, most resembling the intellectual equivalent of a sugar rush. It's safe to say festive greetings have evolved faster than Bollywood’s wardrobe department’s transition from bell-bottoms to… well, whatever they’re wearing now.

The Golden Age of Wishing : Back then, a festive greeting was an event. Receiving a telegram was like opening a Pandora’s Box of emotions – equal parts excitement and dread. After all, telegrams were usually reserved for births, deaths, or urgent dispatches like “Grandma’s dentures found STOP Meet at railway station STOP.” A festive telegram was a rare, precious thing – concise, expensive, and imbued with the weight of every carefully chosen word (or lack thereof, thanks to those pesky STOPs).

Then there was the trunk call. Oh, the drama! First, you’d book it, then you’d settle in for a multi-hour wait, possibly knitting a sweater in the interim. When the operator finally graced you with a connection, the conversation typically devolved into a shouting match across a crackling line:

“Hello? HELLOOO? Can you hear me over the sound of a thousand angry bees?”

“Yes! Speak LOUDER! The static is having a rave!”

“HAPPY DIWALI!”

“What? Did you say ‘buy a new trolley’?”

“DIWALI MUBARAK! ARE YOU DEAF?”

“Oh! Same to you! Now my ear is ringing. Goodbye!” And you’d hang up, feeling deeply satisfied, having spent the equivalent of a month’s rent to yell at a distant relative.

And for the truly committed (and geographically blessed), there was the in-person visit. Families, decked out in their finest polyester finery, would embark on epic door-to-door pilgrimages, bearing gifts of sweets and goodwill. These weren’t just greetings; they were sensory experiences, infused with the aroma of homemade laddoos and the warmth of actual human interaction (a concept almost alien today).

The Digital Deluge today: wishing someone "Happy Diwali" or a New Year is as effortless as accidentally liking your ex’s Instagram post from 2012. Thanks to the magic of cheap data and free messaging apps, you can now broadcast festive cheer to your entire contact list (and several random numbers you accidentally added) with a single, weary click.

But let’s dissect these modern marvels of communication: The Forwarded Text Brigade (aka The Copy-Paste Crusaders): These are the digital equivalent of chain letters, but instead of promising untold riches, they offer generic blessings and stock photos of New Year. You’ve likely received the same message 17 times before your morning chai. One wonders if they even read what they’re sending, or if it's just a Pavlovian response to the word "Diwali or New Year.

The Emoji Overload Enthusiast (aka The Digital Jackson Pollock): These individuals believe that a dense constellation of emojis – 37 diyas, 22 firecrackers, 18 hearts, and a rogue eggplant (why?) – somehow conveys deep emotion. Deciphering their messages is like trying to understand ancient hieroglyphics, only less rewarding.

The Overachieving GIF-er : Why use words when you can bombard your contacts with animated GIFs of dancing peacocks, exploding fireworks, and Bollywood stars doing… something? It’s a visual and auditory onslaught that leaves you feeling more shell-shocked than festive.

The Existential Question: Do They Even Mean It?

One can’t help but ponder: do these mass-forwarders actually mean their wishes, or are they simply exploiting the fact that sending a million digital greetings costs less than a single pani puri? Back in the day, the sheer effort involved in sending a telegram or making a trunk call ensured a certain level of sincerity. Today, the ease of technology has transformed heartfelt greetings into a perfunctory annual ritual. Imagine, just for a moment, if we resurrected the old-school charm. A telegram that reads, “Wishing you a joyous Diwali STOP May your rangoli be more impressive than Sharma ji’s STOP.” Or a phone call where your aunt actually asks about your well-being instead of forwarding you a picture of motichoor ladoos.

Even better, imagine actually visiting people, sharing a cup of chai, and engaging in that quaint, forgotten practice known as “conversation.” Sure, it’s less “efficient,” but it’s infinitely more meaningful.

The evolution of festive greetings reflects our collective slide into convenience-obsessed oblivion. While modern messaging is undeniably fast and far-reaching, it's tragically devoid of the personal touch that made old-school greetings so special. So, this festive season, let’s make a conscious effort to call, visit, or at the very least, type out something original. Because no one needs another generic “May this festival bring you joy and prosperity” message.

And to those still clinging to Minion memes: please. For the love of all that is holy. Just stop.