Sitting in the Digital grave of my own making

You know that feeling of, “Oh, I have made it,” I felt that on 14 July 2023 when Swati Daftuar, a deputy editor at The Hindu cited me as a source in a ghostwriting article. I am an intimate editor - a ghostwriter for nonfiction projects. It is the ultimate translation job - you get to translate the often silent language of one’s heart.

Like that annoying bunny which digs up all the root vegetables and bulbous flowers in your garden, I dig into your psyche and make you tell your deepest desires, opinions, feelings, and findings. Then I translate it into a book ready for mass market distribution.

To quote Aniket Rai when he suggested I change my LinkedIn bio, “I (Binati) will get your book published, whether you write it… or not.”

Lucky.

Enough about me.

Let’s get to the main story - Sitting in the Digital grave of my own making.

Swati’s throughly researched article came out in print on Sunday. To crow like a pompous cock atop its luxurious dungheap, Binati puffed her feathers and prepared to sing the ballads of the glorious ghostwriter.

Only problem ~ she subscribes to e-papers.

How can she pose for victory without a printed version of The Hindu?

“Ah, let me just go grab a copy of today’s paper from the shop,” she thought snootily as she changed out of her rags.

What is this shop?

Who sells newspapers in their shops anymore?

Why does no newsstand in Vadodara carry a copy of the Hindu?

Why don’t we have The Hindu for my city?

Over two hours of aimless wandering resulted in this shocking realisation - she is too digital now. There is no way out of this.

“I will have to ask for help,” the pompous cock thought as she deflated into submission.

Another hour went by messaging friends and family. The family, including me reads Gujarati newspaper. My diverse group of friends all subscribe to e-papers (or don’t read the paper at all).

“How did we all convince each about going digital,” she wondered, “Oh, we were saving the Environment.”

As the cock rolled around in batter and breadcrumbs preparing to be fried, Ramya chimed in.

“Spotted you in this article! 👏👏👏”

The cock had spotted the victim.

Let the begging commence.

Oh and beg she did. She was not the first paper beggar approaching Ramya the Generous. Someone got to Ramya before Binati so now, she had to rope in Sreeja to appease this beast.

Both Sreeja and Ramya are community managers for a micropodcasting platform, cheekily titled Swell. They both put the ‘Swell in her step by snail mailing the Hindu to Binati le’ cocky cock. When platforms are un-ironically named after what they do to their users’ happy feelings, it just makes the digital life seem better.

The digital choices she forsook on Sunday made her heart swell with gratitude on Monday. “It is not the medium alone,” she thought, “it is these people, these bonds… digital or analog fails in front of people.”

The humbled cock wiped her tears, sucked in the snot and embarked on another day of her client not understanding subject-verb-agreement. Binati is still entirely digital but she has a renewed appreciation for the real, the tangible. She is smiling as she writes this.

She also just turned 30 so maybe she should drop this pompeux-là-quoi behaviour?

She will pose with the copy of the paper on LinkedIn and Twitter, so stay tuned, I guess?

To read the printed article online, find the digital version of The Hindu embedded below.