For all the wordy controversies over the BCCI, here’s an event that can be summed up in just two lines. Iconic cricketer Virender Sehwag was recently asked to submit his resume for the post of coach to the Indian cricket team. Sehwag did so. Only, his resume, instead of the bulky portmanteau of public swagger CVs are now meant to be, consisted of two pithy lines: “I am a mentor and coach of Kings XI Punjab in the Indian Premier League. I know some of these boys”. His brevity became the soul of internet wits, sparking off a storm of jokes and memes. But the Board, perhaps slightly less amused, reportedly asked Sehwag to submit a proper resume, please.
Sehwag’s two-line tome evokes the man’s uncomplicated batting style. But alongside, the response of the Board reflects our high-pitched self-marketing times. This is truly the age of verbosity, where self-promotion has replaced, say, music as a fine art. In this age of advertising the self, every form of media, from the modest tweet to the most voluminous books, turn into tales of “I, me, myself”. Alongside, the CV has gone from being a brief
history of professional time, to a universal declaration of one’s greatness, in all spheres.
The affliction has struck the whole world, from your friends on social media, who apparently eat out only to post pictures, to US President Donald Trump. The latter can’t stop praising his own “yuge” abilities. Even while he faces serious difficulties — reviving the US economy, fighting global terror, fending off the investigation probing his Russian ties, et al — Trump seems more interested in admiring himself. He’s even beaten Narcissus, who stared at his own reflection adoringly; while Narcissus quietly hung around the pond of his own admiration, Trump has dived into the swamp of self-love with a global splash. In comparison, Sehwag’s lack of swaggering braggadocio disappoints. Unless, of course, we hear that the two-line CV had a thousand self-promoting selfies attached.