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That Stupid Thing
My
name is … ah ! who cares about my name in the Chennai city holding more
than 7.5 million individuals, including the yesterday born grandson of my
friend, Srinivasan. Even the one day old cute kid whose feeble cry from his teeth
free empty mouth making his rosy cheeks red, will not care to talk to me
one day. From the one day old kid to people who have only one day left to
live in this funny world, nobody wants to know about me. The 7.5 million
individuals in this Chennai city, some percentage of whom I witness daily,
some other percentage I witness rarely and the majority I never witness,
to me appears like 7.5 million individual societies. All because of that
stupid thing.
The basic principle of human society is to interact and cherish
relationship. Every individual influences the society. The society is run
by the response of each individual to the responses of other individuals.
Everything was fine till few years back, until the stupid thing made its
presence in the peaceful Chennai. From dawn to dusk, even while sleeping,
people need only one thing, that stupid thing, that hand-held stupid
mobile phone. Nowadays, I’m not seeing people around; I just see 7.5
million mobile phones roaming around holding human beings with it.
Earlier, 8 out of 10 people I encounter used to greet me, but now;
sometimes even I wonder whether I exist or not.
That day I really thought the guy has gone insane; what else you think
about someone who talks and laughs by himself without anyone around in the
middle of the road. Another day, when I went to milk booth, the person
filling the decade old broken chair inside the cash counter asked, “ya
tell me” and I replied “two packets”. He started shouting, “I don’t care
who you are and let me see how you get it”. I was stunned and twisted my
complexly entangled brain cells to think what the problem in buying two
packets of milk is. Thank god! Only then I realized that he was talking-to
someone through his mobile phone. Everybody everywhere is busy talking to
someone nowhere in mobile phones. The whole world looks like a lunatic
asylum where every individual confines to himself, an aberration in the
society. But, since the whole society is behaving like infinite individual
societies, only I look like an aberration for them. The black colour, grey
colour and many other coloured plastic boxes with rubber buttons and a
small screen have eaten away all my friends and relatives from me.
It’s long since I’ve talked even to my daughter. Normally when she comes
home, she complains about the weather and also grieves that she had to
walk a long distance. Compressing her big eyes, her cute little face
wrinkles when she complains. I love to see that expression and often tease
her for that. She’s indeed beautiful and like her mom, she’s a chatter
box. During dinner, we sit together and we listen to her while she
narrates incident by incident since that morning. Whether it is a quarrel
with her classmate or an appreciation from her teacher, her food won’t
digest until she completes the whole days stuff. The practice continued
for years even after her joining the job, but until recently. Nowadays,
she enters answering a call, later get hooked up in another call and
responds to some other call even while dinner. No more narration from her
and no more wrinkles over her face. All because of that stupid mobile
phone. I feel like puking over it.
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The worst part occurs during my daily travel to office. I use electric
train for commuting to office. It’s a half an hour journey and I used to
enjoy it very much. We, the co-passengers had formed our own local groups.
The first one of the group will reserve seats for people boarding in
subsequent stations. Our group mostly comprised of old men, Mr.Sankaran
whose pot belly hits the passenger in opposite seat, the bald headed
Balakrishnan who have never missed the sandal scratch on his forehead, a
proud symbol which he used to portray that he is a keralite and Shyam,
smart and handsome, an odd man in our group used to discuss about varied
topics. |
Though we had never been
to each others houses, we knew all of our relatives, functions at our
homes and everything personal about us. Similarly, there were other
groups; those who play cards and makes lot of noise, who sing film songs
using compartment walls as drums, who stands on foot board to look around
girls entering each station and so on. Basically, people of similar interests got together and enjoy. But, now,
everything has changed. People are idle. Though they travel together
throughout the year, they don’t even know each other’s names. They are
always busy talking to someone or other in their stupid mobile phones.
Another group of people sit idle like Egyptian mummies. Yes, they are
listening to FM radio in mobile phones. They sway gently by the cradle
vibration of the train and I think they liked it as the swaying is
sometimes coherent with the rhythm of the music that stupid mobile phone
vomits. Once, I sat in between these swaying people, suddenly when one
started talking to some stranger. He didn’t care about his neighbours and
was revealing all his personal details. From his monotonous conversation
(believe me, its killing to listen only one half of conversation), I
understood that he is a diamond merchant and is going to Europe next week.
Had my dad not inculcated some good value system, I could have used the
free info to own few diamonds. If I go on listening to such numerous one
sided conversations, I’m sure I will go mad one day. Already, my wife
complains that my behaviour is awkward.
But one relief is that this train trauma will last only this Thursday.
Tired of this old man who still uses his secretary to check email, my
company thought that they should get rid of me at the earliest opportunity
possible. Though I would have loved to work for some more years to avoid
being with my wife for the whole day, the very thought of everyday train
journey made me love my wife.
The most awaited Thursday also came at last. Since nursery school, I’ve
been a part of many farewells. Every farewell is associated with mixed
emotions, a grief of losing the past and excitement of entering the
future, like a cup of water after eating gooseberry, a sourness mixed with
sweetness. Relishing the past memories and expecting the future moments, I
was experiencing the last official 30 minutes train journey. The train
stopped in between at local stations and the railway platforms exchanged
passengers and all the passengers with stupid mobile phones. A lady clad
in a bright yellow saree reflecting the morning mood was standing near the
entrance, perhaps for getting down in the next station. The breeze, which
remains still at railway station, gushes with heavy force when the train
moves blowing the lady’s yellow saree exposing her waist. Sweat dropped
from her first waist tire to the second, slowly, very slowly like the
collaboration of left over water droplets on an automobile windscreen
after rain. But this sweat is an irritating feeling, especially in places
like Chennai, the sea water provides enough liquor for the sun that the
atmosphere is always fully drunk unable to suck even one drop of sweat
from us leaving all the salt laden sweat to trip over clothes making us
embarrassed with white salt patches.
Everyday, I face the same
problem. My loving wife always have something or the other to tell me in
the last two minutes before I leave and I have to run from the railway
gate to platform within 30 seconds at least to push myself into the last
compartment in font of the white uniformed black skinned guard. When I
force myself to equilibrium holding the passenger rails, I gasp severely
accompanied by wild oscillation of my drooping belly like the bellows of a
harmonium. My heart beats rapidly pumping through all possible blood
vessels and spit sweat on my forehead and neck. The sweat collects and
flows down through the side and reaches my earlobes. I feel tickled, try
to wipe it off and I drop my bag in the attempt. The pot belly compels me
to get my trousers stitched with the only known tailor Manickam as there
is no standard size that fits my disfigured physique. While gasping, my
belly pushes my trousers and the white lining peeps out. I can’t see it as
y belly prevents, but can realize it by the teasing half-lipped smile from
some teenage girls opposite to me.
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Being the last day, I started early and escaped the embarrassment of white
lining from the teenagers. But, today the teenagers were replaced by the
lady inside yellow saree. She was deeply involved in her mobile phone that
she was not even aware or didn’t care to be aware of her waist getting
exposed. But some college guys who were swaying to the music inside the
stupid mobile phone were fully aware of the lady’s exposed waist. I felt
sick, but soon forgot about it as I entered my office. |
Evening, my office staff hosted a farewell for my retirement day. All of
us assembled in the conference hall and for the first time, I took the
leading chair in the dais. Most of the people gathered 5 minutes before
the scheduled time. Perhaps, the aroma of cutlet behind the dais might
have attracted them. We heard some unheard music when one of the guys
excused himself with his mobile saying, “hello, ya Ravi speaking”. Soon,
one more lady followed the same way. By now, Ravi had come and Gopal
received a call. I’m sure it is his fiancée. Despite his dark skin, he
blushed; but I had been to his engagement and I personally feel that she’s
just an ordinary looking female and doesn’t deserve so much blushing.
Within 5 minutes, everyone around me was talking to someone who is not
there then and I stood aloof experiencing the unfathomable truth of my
loneliness. Under some strange permutation all the potential friends of
the gathering were silent for five minutes and hence could finish my
farewell.
First our G.M spoke and was followed by many others, my bosses, peers and
subordinates. As a custom, they all spoke nice about me. I felt proud
despite my complete knowledge that all these are alive only for few more
minutes and will vanish like Cinderella’s chariot the moment I get out of
the dais.
Before that moment, my G.M garlanded me and gave me a nicely packed gift
box wrapped in satin ribbon. I was so delighted, especially at the packing
and satin ribbon. With so much of excitation, I slowly opened the box.
There was a small greeting card signed by all saying “you will be with us
always”. I slowly took the greeting card and found a … god !... the
stupid mobile phone.
Contributing Story Teller
K.Hariharan, I was born in 1982
in southern tip of India, Kanyakumari district. I'm an engineer by
Profession. I work for "Ashok Leyland", second largest Indian commercial
vehicle manufacturers. I'm currently residing in Chennai, southern part of
India.
harikmail@gmail.com
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