In the haze of dispiritedness re blogging in specific, and everything else in general, I completely passed over one of the most momentous happenings in my recent life. So let me rectify that now, albeit a couple of months too late. I gave up the Blackberry for a Samsung Galaxy Grand Duos with double sim as the child kindly informed me, urging me to get an additional sim in order to utilise the instrument to its fullest. An valuable suggestion that I gently declined given that my rota of calls per day on this single phone do not exceed more than three, excluding the mandatory once a day duty call to the mater. But I digress. The fact remains that I have now, on my person, a touchphone. After all these years of defending the blackberry stoutly on social media where they sneered at Blackberry users like we were manure encrusted rustics on a day out from the hinterlands, I got myself a touch phone that was not from the Blackberry stable. After all, I had been a blackberry devout for almost a decade, through various models I changed every couple of years. I had a BBM pin that made me feel unwarrantedly important person. It was a business phone for someone who has been chronically unemployed for the past decade. I spent my day tapping away at it in bloated sense of urgency that the stratosphere could perhaps collapse instantly should I not revert immediately to that very important email that demanded to know whether one could wear wedges with jeggings or if it would be a sartorial fauxpas of dimensions so humungous that one would be relegated to the dregs of the social strata along with the names reserved on the to be invited in the event of a drop out list most hostesses keep ready.
The Blackberry, I must confess, for all my spirited defending of it, and devotion to its typing pad with letters so tiny that I needed, once I segued into old age and reading glasses, to ask the child to hold it ten feet away so I could read the screen and the letters clearly, had been misbehaving acutely. For one, there was the constant hanging. It hung so often that barely a day went by when I had been able to complete a conversation, even with a gas booking IVRS without it being interrupted by the phone going on blank. This also made it rather difficult to have a decent argument with the spouse AND have the last word in it, and this compelled us to take the phone arguments over into face to face time. Then there was the charging problem. I would plug the charger into the phone, flick the charging switch on, sleep the entire night, wake the next morning, switch the phone on and it would gurgle and die on me before I’d managed to even read the good morning whatsapp forwards.
Ergo, the spouse, secretly I suspect, fed up of having to hand me his phone every time I needed to make a call I couldn’t afford to get cut off midway in, stomped into Croma and threw around scary technology related questions at the chap manning the phone counter, and by the end of the hour I was the proud owner of a new touch phone. Now having used the iPad and the spouse’s touch phone I wasn’t a stranger to the technology, but the fact remained that this was strange to me. For the first couple of days, I treated the phone much like you would treat a newborn baby, stare at it with awe, be careful not to drop it on its head, rush to it whenever it cried, etc. And then it got familiar. Add to this, the new phone had been practically hijacked by the boy who was happily downloading every game possible from Temple Run to Subway Surfer to Bhaag Milka Bhaag to Ra One on this, while I yelled to unreceiving ears about memory being taken up.
I must confess though, that the snickering lot were right. The touch phones are a whole pile of fun better than the BB. There are issues of course. Calls that happen when hands are being utilised for eating purposes are doomed to go unanswered. When I am in the company of the legally begotten offspring, the phone is in his hands, and he proceeds to play back to back games on it, while kindly keeping me in the loop by reading aloud incoming messages and notifications from twitter, facebook and whatsapp, as well as calls which must go unanswered until he is done with his highest score target reaching, before handing the phone back to me. Answering messages travelling in autorickshaws on Mumbai’s roads is a spell check bot’s wet dream. And of course, you can’t quite disconnect a call you’ve yelled at with quite the same pizzazz as came from pressing a disconnect button furiously.
Am I enjoying the new phone. You bet I am. And yes. The big screen is a boon for ageing eyes which need to enlarge everything or need to fish out reading glasses in public and carbon date self. I regret not making the switch sooner. But then, as I keep saying, I’m nothing if not loyal.