Once, when I was young -- very, very young -- so young that I called boys with whiskers on their upper lips, big boys, we got a telephone. It was not the big bulky machine staring angrily like a grandfather, like other phones. Neither did it have the tedious dial where you put your finger in and turn all the way round and a number is reached; then turn again for the next number and then again. Cutter, cutter, cutter... you go all the way. And then what a pity if the number does not exist. But this violet phone; this indulgent, shiny, sleek uncle from a foreign land had none of these. Black buttons with white digits on them. A body so light that it will hang on its wires. And it did not ring like the horrible rustic alarm bells but with a slight measured noise like they spoke in English movies. After admiring my object of adoration for a while, I eventually had to pick up the receiver. So, is phone alright. We are checking line. I love it. It is a terrific phone. When can we start calling? It will take a few more days. Call your Baba. Baba is in office. Call Ma then Ma is sleeping Please call her. We need to tell her something important about the phone It pained me that there could be something about the phone that was hidden from me. Something that separated me from my new pride. I kept vigil as Ma spoke and noted down five digits. Can we call now? Whom do you want to call? My friends. But you can talk to them in school and when you go out in the para. Do you have a girlfriend too? This had made me very angry. Girlfriend is a bad thing. Only sissys have girlfriends. I will talk to them on phone and in para. I walked away, angrily, as she kept laughing. There was another trouble keeping me away from this fascinating machine. Each time I called a number some woman said that this facility is not available in your telephone. I failed to understand what facility was available then if calling was not. But this was a little strange because everyday Baba called people, sipped tea -- receiver at the ear -- and spoke loud and clear and laughed and laughed. In the afternoon Ma spoke to mashi as the sunlight slowly escaped through the balconys door. Something very suspicious was going on. I was not the kind of boy who gives up easily. I was at work, everyday after school, trying out combination of numbers. But finally one day I decided to go for the the final experiment. What if I dialled 100? Hello, Lalbajar. Hi, are you police? Yes. I was just checking if my phone works.If I dial any other number it says that the facility is not available. There was a brief silence. Some muttering. Another man asked me how old I was and then told me that I should never call them again. Never, he said. If I call? I have not called anyone on my new phone yet. A rhythmic sound on the other side. The line was disconnected.
Posted on: Wed, 06 Aug 2014 16:10:37 +0000
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