It seems like just yesterday that my friends and I drew up long lists of resolutions for the coming year and, sitting under a tree in our boarding school compound, sang, as the night drew in upon us: “1969, 1969, 1969 has ca-a-um. Alleluia, alleluia, 1969 has come.”
I don’t know where the years have gone, and I sure don’t remember what resolutions we made. But they were likely very different from those floating in and out of my consciousness now, on the back of innumerable events and experiences — personal, familial, of the world, and certainly life-altering.
In school, it was mostly about school-related stuff — and of course, friends. In college, it was about how to make the future be what we wanted it to be — and of course, friends. Then, through marriage, work, travel — and combinations of these, one way or the other — it was about family, profession, ambitions. In some of our lists, friends still featured — but for many, they fell away. Voices in the head from years past echoed the sound of admonishing elders, who cautioned that friends were all very well, but it was always something else that mattered more or that would make a bigger difference in life.
Days of yore
All the while, the world was changing in amazing ways. I remember our little black telephone in Chennai tucked below the stairway, number 440624. You could never make secret calls because everyone in the house heard every single digit you dialled: drrrr drrrr drrrrrrrr drrrrrr drr drrrr.
Much later, as an out-of-towner working in the Indian Express in Ahmedabad, the only possibility of telephonic connectivity was via 25250 (I think), sitting on the chief-sub’s desk at the top of the horse shoe (That’s the formation we sat in, chief-sub at one end, and the other end left open). Obviously, the phone was accessed only in emergencies (for personal use, I mean), although the smart cookies somehow always managed to whisper their sweet nothings, even as they sat in the middle of all the newsroom action!
The press-dial instruments opened up greater possibilities. It made us feel more sophisticated, especially as they came in a few more colours: red, white, cream, green. We had a red one in Noida: 4300. It was not easy to get telephone connections, especially if you didn’t live in the city, and we had had a long wait for ours. Until then, we’d got by with the help of neighbours, always willing to pass on a message or provide a chair, so we could wait for the expected call at the appointed time, fixed via a letter sent by regular post.
Long distance calls were a thing apart. You booked a call, hoped the telephone operator got the name right — Dwivedi. Rendu vedi, trivedi illai; adu moonu vedam. Idu rendu vedam / Yenna? David-a? / Illai, illai — and waited hours for the connection, which would invariably be lousy and over in three minutes with some disconnected shouting at both ends. Not entirely satisfying in terms of conversation, but at least contact was made.
Then came Sam Pitroda, and PCOs began dotting almost the entire landscape. There was the wheel, there was electricity, and now there were telephones everywhere. The revolution was well and truly set. Mobile phones have now changed our lives so completely that we no longer have to make physical efforts to make friends in order to chat with them.
The tricky bit
And that’s where it gets tricky. Because if we’re not wary, this instrument of mass empowerment — the epitome of instant and reliable communication — could become an active tool in the breakdown of real, live, flesh-and-blood connections. You may have thousands of friends at the press of your finger, but is there someone sitting across the table, sharing a real cup of hot, steaming coffee with you? I know this is an extreme, Matrix-type scenario, but you know, anything the mind conjures, comes to pass eventually.
Is that the road you want to go down?
So, coming back to resolutions, I know what I will do: I will make an effort to call my friends, yes, but also meet them whenever possible, and not cut corners by relying on WhatsApp groups. The groups provide a loose sense of belonging, but we need more, we need soul so we can be “closer to believing”, as Peter Sinfield wrote and ELP sang: I need to be here with you / For without you what am I / Just another fool out searching / For some heaven in the sky…
This is a love song, but friends are people you love and what we’re all searching for is some heaven on earth. Basically, love your phone; but love your friends more.