Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
I Google myself
Countless times every day
The high from the search
Especially the discovery of a new website
Full of praise and approval
Usually dies down in a couple of hours
Sometimes even less
And I find myself restlessly typing my name
In the Google search bar once again
Hoping to discover another website
With higher praise and approval
Even before I manage to finish typing
My quaint but historical first name
Google autocomplete suggests options
Based entirely on their level of Googleability
My surname is always at the fourth position
After Sharma, Singh and the meaning of my name
While the first two options bother me
Because they refer to people with my first name
– A joke-spawning failed politician’s right-hand man
(and not even the failed politician himself)
And a kung fu instructor for a Bollywood star
(and not even the Bollywood star himself) –
Who are more Googled than I am
And therefore more wanted, loved and admired
The third option doesn’t bother me
Since it isn’t the name of a living, breathing being
But the meaning of my first name
That hasn’t even been fully typed
In the Google search bar
Sometimes a C-grade and mostly out-of-work
Actress with my name
Overtakes me in the search results
But since this happens only late at night
When she’s probably being searched
Not for who she is and
What she has accomplished
But just as masturbation material for
Middle-aged small-town men
Not getting a wholesome fuck that day
I don’t mind too much
Nor do I excessively mind
Being out-searched by my namesake Boeing
On the anniversary of its explosion every June
Or when there are new developments in the trial
For I am (not yet) a heartless egomaniac
It was a only a few days ago
When a villa with my name in Bali
With a measly fifteen rooms
And a barely-four-star rating on TripAdvisor
Overtook me in the autocomplete options
That I began to seriously
Question my worth
I was further devastated when
Due to broadband failure one day
I had to Google myself on my cellphone
And discovered that a local banquet garden
With my name
In the most unseemly part of Delhi
Had been suggested before my name
Along with a coin
From the era of the emperor
Whose name I share
But who was no Alexander the Great
After that day I stopped EgoGoogling myself
And have vowed never to do so
Unless my full name is suggested
By the mercurial and, dare I say, sadistic
Google autocomplete
When I type out the first letter
Of a word or phrase
While searching for someone
Or something
Other than myself