There is a strange sense of duty that has quietly crept into our lives. It does not come from religion, though it feels spiritual. It does not come from law, though it feels binding. It comes from that glowing little screen in our hands, and it whispers a simple command: Forward this.
And we obey.
It does not matter what the message says. It could be a cure for baldness discovered in a kitchen in Bihar. It could be a warning that the sun will rise from the west next Tuesday. It could be a photograph of a crocodile spotted near a swimming pool in Switzerland, somehow now lurking in Andheri. We do not pause. We do not question. We simply add that noble disclaimer, “Forwarded as received,” and pass it on as though we are carrying sacred scrolls down a mountain.
What fascinates me is that this one line has become our moral shield. By saying “forwarded as received,” we seem to believe we are absolved of all responsibility. We are not saying it is true. We are not saying it is false. We are simply saying, like a very polite courier, that we found this parcel lying around and felt it was our duty to deliver it to as many unsuspecting people as possible.
Somewhere deep within us, there is a fear that if we do not forward it, something terrible might happen. What if the message about impending doom was actually correct and we failed to warn others.
What if that miracle cure actually worked and we deprived humanity of relief. And so, to avoid this imaginary guilt, we flood our friends, families, and that one silent school group with everything that lands on our screens.
The result is quite remarkable. We have become a nation of broadcasters without editors. News travels faster than truth. Rumours wear the confidence of facts. And wisdom arrives wrapped in bad grammar and capital letters.
I sometimes wonder what would happen if we treated forwarded messages the way we treat strangers at our door. Imagine opening the door, hearing a wild story, and then running into your neighbour’s house to repeat it without even checking if the fellow at your door was sane. That is exactly what we are doing, except now the door is digital and the stranger is anonymous.
Perhaps the real courage today is not in forwarding, but in pausing. In reading. In asking one simple question: Does this make sense?
Because until we learn that, we will continue to be messengers of confusion, proudly signing off with “forwarded as received,” not realising that what we are really forwarding is not information, but our own unwillingness to think…!
The Author conducts an online, eight session Writers and Speakers Course. If you’d like to join, do send a thumbs-up to WhatsApp number 9892572883 or send a message to bobsbanter@gmail.com
