Should I be disappointed that he’s come down amongst us mere mortals, or glad that Salman Rushdie, the God of Great Words, has discovered the lowbrow delights of social media?
First I have to wonder how on earth he’s going to keep his multifarious hydra headed imagination and pyrotechnic style caged in 140 characters?
Then I have to ask - is this what we want from him? I checked out @salmanrushdie1and indeed, there’s no sign of pyrotechnics or even the sweet perfection of a haiku which I always imagined simply pour out of him even when he’s penning grocery lists.
But but let’s be honest here. I’m not following him to read Rushdie. I’m following him to get close to Rushdie. Maybe there’s a small part of me that feels that if I send him enough tweets - adoring without being ingratiating - he may start following me too (@storyfordheera). Of course there are 22,847 (to date) followers probably all hoping for the same thingl; all hoping that their tweet may catch the eye of the Grand Old Man. And maybe he’ll re-tweet them, or even and this is the golden prize, follow them back.
I’m a writer’s groupie. There, I’ve let you in on my dirty little secret. You know those iconic pics of women weeping and fainting at a Beatles concert in the 60’s? Well that’s me when it comes to good writers. Nabokov would have had me weeping and fainting if I was in his proximity. Ive composed love letters in my head to Michel Chabon, David Mitchell, Robert Kagan. But no one owns my devotion more than Rushdie. Once, I was given a precious 10 minutes with him for an interview. The whole time, I had to concentrate so hard on not falling to my knees to kiss his ring, that I didn’t even register that my tape recorder had the Pause button on.
He’ll never know how much I love him, how worthy I am of his notice. But perhaps in that blizzard of tweets he’s getting, one in particular will catch his eye.