There is a debutant in my world of vexations. In a list that formerly read – 1) Waterless Tanks of the Delhi Summer variety and 2) The Car Parking Problem when there’s a clinic next door – I now have an interesting new monster to tackle: “The Phoney Phone”.
In case you are the geek who cannot stand a passing comment on his/her precious gadget, please do read on:
♦ One. My handset is but three years old and though I am not the best bet when you’re talking err, prevention from falling, I have taken reasonably good care of the thing. But now the attention-seeking creature doesn’t even do a double take when its battery bars vamoose into thin air all in a day’s work. I don’t use my phone as my three-in-one i-Pod, Camera and e-Mail agent. I only talk. And yet the thing, the one I have tended to and carried about lovingly in my hands for so many years, acts up on me. Tragic.
♦ Two. I cannot seem to stop these irritating text messages that block my inbox day in and day out. No, I do not want a flat. Not even if it requires no down payment and is located a kilometre from the airport. Neither do I want to attend a chocolate-making workshop. Most importantly, in no way am I the right person for ambiguous notifications such as:
“Required bold, beautiful and broad-minded secretary for education consultant.
Salary 1 lakh per month with perks.“
I promise not to bug Mr. Education Consultant for clarifications on exactly why he needs a ‘broad-minded’ secretary and though the money seems to be rather magnanimous, I beg to be excused.
♦ Three. In what is the biggest menace of the lot, I am a sad victim of tangled wires. The troupe of Cross Connection and Wrong Number movies that have come out over the years may be enjoyable on the screen, but I don’t appreciate a illustration of the phenomena in my life.
It’s been a while since The Phoney Phone has been up to tricks. He thinks it’s immense fun discreetly connecting me to random conversations across the nation. On my part, I not only find the joke in bad taste but also think it’s extremely insensitive on the part of any Phoney Phone to play truant when a beloved calls up. Doesn’t an enormous mobile tower have a teeny-weeny space reserved for a personal heart? The inanities of my phone seem to increase at an exponential rate as nightfall approaches. In perfect intersection with peak calling hours. The inanities are at an all-time high late into the night.
In this series of poor jokes, when a water-vendor was done with his introduction and a random stranger enquired about his dinner, I decided I had had enough. The happy-to-help customer care had ingenious cures for my ailments:
◊ Call 1: Deactivate call diverting ma’am.
◊ Call 2: Please remove your SIM ma’am.
◊ Call 3: Please clean your SIM ma’am.
◊ Call 4: I have no idea. Maybe there’s congestion ma’am?
Yeah right. It’s me who is supposed to have the idea. Leaving switching and signal and frequency related technicalities aside, I only know that it feels downright eerie to suddenly hear a foreign voice while on a call. I detest that kind of disturbance spoiling the little time we get to talk.
Sigh. It seems to me these phones are such a muddle. You need to charge them, you need to pay for talking, you need to be prepared for a sneaking invasion to your privacy if your call decides to cross connect. I sincerely miss the rambling walks of Pune and the ample scope the dear city provided for conversations as long as you please.
I am beginning to realize. Getting married, at the end of the day, is a wonderful idea. 😀