I’m not really a cellphone person at all.. at least I thought I wasn’t.Mobile phone etiquette leaves a lot to be desired … they ring at the oddest hours.. during official meetings, cosy dinners, in theatres even in temples. And people leave mid-sentence, mid-prayer, mid-meal to answer the call of the call.
I dismissed it as a fad, a tashan. It will fizzle out just like the damp squib pager, I said. I waited patiently with my blinkers on. I had a long wait coming.
I moved to Pune and my new editor insisted I carry a cellphone. I cringed, then allowed the husband to get me one. I kept it but vowed not to use it. I’d give people only my office numbers. Each time someone asked, “What’s your mobile number?” I’d reply grandly (and a tad rudely), “I take official calls only at office.”
Then I missed a story because when the girl I was supposed to interview called me I was out on another assignment. Then I missed another one and another. The boss’ sour face made me start handing out my mobile number. It started to ring more and more frequently. “Oh okay,” I agreed, grudgingly. “It’s a bit useful”. Slowly, silently, insidiously it worked its black magic on me. I found myself reaching out for it in times of happiness and stress.
I got a promotion, it let me gloat in private.
The doctor said I was having twins, I couldn’t call my husband fast enough.
My aunt passed away it helped me lighten my grief.
My son fell ill it let me share my worries.
We moved to a different city it lessened the heartache of parting.
My daughter threw up in school it summoned me in a flash.
Yet I refused to acknowledge and accept its significance in my life.
It’s supposed to come home today and I’m ready with my welcome song and aarti ki thali. It’s all about My Friends, My Life, My Phone.