The first time we got a telephone was in 1993. More than two decades back. We placed her on a small glass table. The phone was black in colour. She was the most modern and glamorous show piece we had in our house then. The phone rang for the first time sometime in a hot and humid afternoon in June 1993. The telephone operator from the junction box called,
"Are you able to hear?"
"Yes", I said excitedly.
"There you are! Congratulations on getting the connection. Keep a box of rasgollas ready...I am coming"
My brother was standing behind me with a broad smile.
My mother said she was very nervous talking over the phone. She felt she couldn't hear the feeble sound.
When my father returned from the office, we gave him the "news of the day" even before he entered the house properly.
It was not that we were late comers to the party of landline connection. Around that time telephone was installed in a number of houses around us. We were riding on the telephone revolution that had taken India by storm in the early 90s.
That was the beginning of a long association with the number that we could have said even in our dreams - 26838651.
***
Since then there has been no letting down to the "tringgg tringgg" of the phone, only occasionally paused by the "line problem", "technical faults" and stormy nights. Initially, it was used more of a formal way of communication, wherein the call would last only for a few seconds - barely a minute. Then we gradually became more comfortable to use it. My mother would be able to hold the receiver firmly and talk to her parents and brother without sparing a thought about the audio quality. Father used the phone more for official purposes. We used to call our friends in colleges, enquiring about the homework. I used to sneak in and talk "sweet nothings" for hours with my girl friend, who is now my wife (today we hardly talk more than 3 minutes a day over the phone!). But, you know, those days are romantic and you are on cloud nine.
My grandparents used the phone to call their daughter and some other relatives. Then one day my grandparents died one by one. We used that very phone to communicate the news to our relatives. Incoming calls came and the phone went on ringing. She did not stop. The black box gave way to a glamourous white cordless gadget. But she never got the attention of her predecessor. She lay on the table that was pushed towards a corner of the room. The glass-top has been replaced by a wooden one. It was no more the-talked-about-gadget.
Then we left home, for studies and then work. The usage of phone became more prominent with the constant communication that we maintained with our parents. Good news, bad news, news of no importance, just chit-chats, news that brought smile, news that brought tears....we all have experienced that. Then the mobile revolution came. Sidelined, but not forgotten, the sound of the the landline still echoed within the walls of the empty house which was now occupied only by my parents. At times from the market, my father used to call using his mobile phone to the landline which my mother would pick up leaving all her domestic work.
"Shall I bring a small hilsa? It seems very fresh." Typical husband. Decision already taken, now completing the formality.
"Hope its not that expensive." The home-maker gives her two cents, knowing the format of the question doesnt leave much room for negotiation.
But that was it. Again the phone would fall back on her hibernation.
Day by day, she was becoming less important a member in the house. She has definitely passed her heydays. She reminded me of the heroines in their old ages, once glamourous and now "Nemo!". In the age of mobile phones, where you dont have to memorise numbers, even we faultered a couple of times to get the landline number correct the first time.
***
This January my mother disconnected the telephone line. The lady who first held the receiver nervously, then steadily, finally decided to call it a day. From being sparsely used, she had become a mere show piece. So, without any tears or thoughts, she surrendered her to the telephone company. I am sure in some dark corners of the telephone office among a heap of old discarded dusty telephones, our one has found her place and is into a deep sleep. They all have been redundant in the age of mobile phones. No phones around will ever ring to disturb their sleep.
There lies a graveyard of phones!
***
I dial my old number as my heart skips a beat.
"Please check the number you have dialed!, is all I hear.
A part of my days of growing up has disappeared into oblivion.
Suddenly, my mobile phone rings.
"Hello!"
My mother. She has a mobile now.
"Today I checked my bank account. The telephone exchange refunded the deposit amount. That deposit amount which they took in 1993!".
This was the last bit of "due" from our old friend.
The final rites have been completed without any fuss.
May her soul rest in peace!
"Are you able to hear?"
"Yes", I said excitedly.
"There you are! Congratulations on getting the connection. Keep a box of rasgollas ready...I am coming"
My brother was standing behind me with a broad smile.
My mother said she was very nervous talking over the phone. She felt she couldn't hear the feeble sound.
When my father returned from the office, we gave him the "news of the day" even before he entered the house properly.
It was not that we were late comers to the party of landline connection. Around that time telephone was installed in a number of houses around us. We were riding on the telephone revolution that had taken India by storm in the early 90s.
That was the beginning of a long association with the number that we could have said even in our dreams - 26838651.
***
Since then there has been no letting down to the "tringgg tringgg" of the phone, only occasionally paused by the "line problem", "technical faults" and stormy nights. Initially, it was used more of a formal way of communication, wherein the call would last only for a few seconds - barely a minute. Then we gradually became more comfortable to use it. My mother would be able to hold the receiver firmly and talk to her parents and brother without sparing a thought about the audio quality. Father used the phone more for official purposes. We used to call our friends in colleges, enquiring about the homework. I used to sneak in and talk "sweet nothings" for hours with my girl friend, who is now my wife (today we hardly talk more than 3 minutes a day over the phone!). But, you know, those days are romantic and you are on cloud nine.
My grandparents used the phone to call their daughter and some other relatives. Then one day my grandparents died one by one. We used that very phone to communicate the news to our relatives. Incoming calls came and the phone went on ringing. She did not stop. The black box gave way to a glamourous white cordless gadget. But she never got the attention of her predecessor. She lay on the table that was pushed towards a corner of the room. The glass-top has been replaced by a wooden one. It was no more the-talked-about-gadget.
Then we left home, for studies and then work. The usage of phone became more prominent with the constant communication that we maintained with our parents. Good news, bad news, news of no importance, just chit-chats, news that brought smile, news that brought tears....we all have experienced that. Then the mobile revolution came. Sidelined, but not forgotten, the sound of the the landline still echoed within the walls of the empty house which was now occupied only by my parents. At times from the market, my father used to call using his mobile phone to the landline which my mother would pick up leaving all her domestic work.
"Shall I bring a small hilsa? It seems very fresh." Typical husband. Decision already taken, now completing the formality.
"Hope its not that expensive." The home-maker gives her two cents, knowing the format of the question doesnt leave much room for negotiation.
But that was it. Again the phone would fall back on her hibernation.
Day by day, she was becoming less important a member in the house. She has definitely passed her heydays. She reminded me of the heroines in their old ages, once glamourous and now "Nemo!". In the age of mobile phones, where you dont have to memorise numbers, even we faultered a couple of times to get the landline number correct the first time.
***
This January my mother disconnected the telephone line. The lady who first held the receiver nervously, then steadily, finally decided to call it a day. From being sparsely used, she had become a mere show piece. So, without any tears or thoughts, she surrendered her to the telephone company. I am sure in some dark corners of the telephone office among a heap of old discarded dusty telephones, our one has found her place and is into a deep sleep. They all have been redundant in the age of mobile phones. No phones around will ever ring to disturb their sleep.
There lies a graveyard of phones!
***
I dial my old number as my heart skips a beat.
"Please check the number you have dialed!, is all I hear.
A part of my days of growing up has disappeared into oblivion.
Suddenly, my mobile phone rings.
"Hello!"
My mother. She has a mobile now.
"Today I checked my bank account. The telephone exchange refunded the deposit amount. That deposit amount which they took in 1993!".
This was the last bit of "due" from our old friend.
The final rites have been completed without any fuss.
May her soul rest in peace!
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