The Art Of Fitting In

First a little story. One that is familiar to most of you.

There is an episode in the Bhaagavatam where Krishna plays a trick on Yashoda. To keep Krishna from mischief, Yashoda decided to tie Him to a large mortar. But the rope she fetched was just a little short. She tried different ropes but they always came up just slightly short. She joined two ropes together but no, they still came up short. It seemed that Krishna's midriff could not be encircled no matter what the length of the rope was. Krishna's rope trick had her totally enthralled. Finally, Krishna decided to put her out of misery and let Himself be tied up.

Why did I bring up this story? I think Krishna left a little of His mischief to remain in the world in the form of ready made clothes to have some fun at our expense.

Throw your mind back to the time when you had your clothes made to measure though some of you may be too young to throw back far enough (I like to assume that not all my readers are old like me). Back then, you did not have to fit into one of the fixed sizes - small, medium, large, etc. Or wonder whether you should get a 15 or 151/2. You just purchased the cloth and went to the tailor. The tailor would wave a tape measure around  your body and shout out incomprehensible numbers to his assistant who would take them down in a notebook. The clothes would then be made to measure. You even had a fitting session to have final adjustments made to the trousers when they were still kind of semi-finished with white marks all over.

Bespoke clothes cost a great deal now and few can afford them. Most of us are resigned to finding ready made clothes in the size that comes closest to our body measurements. For example, you have a 33 waist but the pant sizes available are either 32 or 34 (seriously the manufactures seem to have a sworn dislike for odd sizes). The sleeve length is 32/33 which means it will fit neither 32 nor 33. You feel like Goldilocks except there is no 'just right' in your case. You may be thinking that one could either gain half inch or lose half inch for the perfect fit. If only you can control your body that well! To make things worse, the pants come in sets of lengths that seem to be dependent on the waist size. For example, let us say that you need 33 waist with 29 length. You will find 32x30 or 34x29.

At least the sizes for men's clothes indicate what the actual measurements are. Not so women's. The numbers used for them seem to make no sense. They are like shoe sizes which by the way are totally incomprehensible. You just have to try the shoes to make sure they fit. Of course, the two feet are not identical in size in general the result being one shoe is tight or loose while the other fits.

It seems to me that Heisenberg's Uncertainly Principle applies to the world of ready made clothing too. For those unfamiliar with Heisenberg, he stated that it is impossible to know both the exact position and the exact speed of a particle at the same instant of time. If you are able to fix the position, the speed will be inaccurate and vice versa. I am simplifying but you get the drift. In a like manner, either the waist will fit or the length will but not both. If the shirt fits well around the chest then the shoulders are probably tight or the sleeve is too long.

'So what?', you might be saying. If your waist size falls between two available sizes, all you need to do is buy the larger size and get a belt. Ah, but this is where it gets trickier. You find that the belt too needs a hole between one that is too loose and one that is too tight. It's no use. We are destined to be a misfit one way or another. I guess we just have to suck it up literally and figuratively. The whole thing leaves me wishing sometimes that we just wore the traditional dhoties which of course come in just one size and do fit most if not all.

By the way, do you ever wonder where they get the models for advertising? The clothes seem to fit the models perfectly although that could be a result of air brushing or some other technique. My experience tells me that such human beings do not exist.

It is true that clothing manufacturers have come a long way. We now have different classes altogether of sizes like regular, fitted, slim, relaxed (for those of large proportions), and big and tall (note that these go together), and so on (what exactly is 'fitted' anyway?). Within one of these, you hope to find that magical size that is just right for you. But Krishna's Law will probably ensure that you fall in between slim and relaxed or you are lean and tall (small and tall sounds a bit of an anomaly, doesn't it?) so that slim pants are not long enough and the tall variety is too loose.

So what are we to do? If the clothes do not fit you, then you should somehow fit into them. In any case, fitting in is one of the things that we are constantly doing in life. From elementary school through college, you are being pressured to conform. And the pressure continues throughout life. The funny thing is, at the same time, you also need to stand out or risk being ignored. It is up to you to find the right balance between the two. The ready made clothes conundrum seems to be a perfect metaphor for life itself. You knew that Krishna's pranks always had a teaching in them, didn't you?

To Catch A Spider

There was a black spider on the ceiling of my bedroom. My body stiffened at the sight of it. My house is largely free of insects. But spiders do make their way in every now and then although it's probably more accurate to say that I see one now and then. For all I know there may be an entire colony of spiders in the house. Occasionally a garden lizard drops in (only because somebody leaves a door open). It is bit of a trick to coax the lizard to leave especially if it senses danger. I have had to chase one around the living room keeping it from hiding under furniture before finally leading it out through the front door. On one occasion, I found a lizard wiggling inside my shoe as I put it on causing me to jump a foot or two. But generally, the insects stay outside leaving you in peace.

Years ago, on one of my visits to my village, I saw someone using a mosquito net in summer when mosquitoes were not an issue. It seemed to me that the net would impede air flow and cause it to be stuffy inside. I asked him why he was using one. He told me that the net would catch any insects or possibly even a scorpion that might fall from the ceiling. Thanks to this information, I spent the rest of my stay worrying about scorpions falling from the ceiling. I guess that fear has stayed with me all this time.

And now here I was facing the actual possibility of an insect descending upon me while I slept. The spider seemed to have wandered to the centre of the ceiling. There was no sign of a web around. Still scoping out my bedroom for the best spot to spin one, I thought. It seemed transfixed, not moving around much. A few tentative scurries in different directions but with no discernible target. What was it doing there? Did it get lost in what must be an ocean of whiteness to its eyes? How does a spider relate to this environment?

Life as an insect must involve a great deal of uncertainty. At any moment it may be swallowed up by a lizard or a frog. Or someone may step on it although not while it is holding on to the ceiling. Perhaps this spider had figured this out and was resting there. But somehow I doubt that spiders and other insects live in constant fear. Contrariwise (I have always wanted to use that word) I was the one afflicted with fear upon seeing the spider.

I could ponder the situation endlessly but the the thought uppermost in my mind was how to get rid of the spider. Of course this was not the first time I had encountered a spider in my house. And over the years, I have evolved an effective method to get the spider out of the house when I find one. You are perhaps wondering why I do not kill it. Ten years ago, I would have gotten the vacuum cleaner with its crevice cleaning attachment and sucked it out. But I have to come look upon that as needlessly cruel. I do not like to kill the spider (or any insect as long as it is not a cockroach!) just for the crime of its having wandered into my house uninvited. Instead I catch the spider, take it outside and let it go.

Operation Spider in my house involves some equipment - a broom, a plastic cup of suitable size and a card about 7 inches by 5. The junk mail I get usually provides a good supply of suitable cards while I have found that the cover that used to come with a stack of CD-ROMs makes the best cup. All that is left then is to get the spider into the cup, cover it with the card, and take it outside. Since the spider is usually not sitting on the floor waiting for you, a certain dexterity with the broom is required to finesse it into the cup. Some early attempts at this have left a few scars on the walls.

It is tricky to get the spider even for an experienced spider catcher when it is on the ceiling. This one was also perched at the highest part of the vaulted ceiling making it difficult to reach. After a couple of practice swings, I managed to sweep it off and my wife was ready to cover it quickly with the cup (oh yeah, did I mention that it is often a two-person job?) when it fell on the floor. I slid the card between the cup and the floor with consummate ease and I was done. I then took it out to the yard and shook the cup to let the spider go.

I wondered what the spider thought of the situation. From crawling around the brightly lit ceiling in a warm room with nary a care to being trapped in a plastic cup to being thrown into the darkness - all within a couple of minutes, would be seriously disorienting. But it showed no visible sign of it as it sped away into the bushes. For my part, I felt relieved and went to bed a little pleased with how smoothly the whole thing had gone.

Musings On A Lazy Afternoon

A beautiful spring day reigns supreme in my backyard.  Mornings and evenings have their charm but the afternoons have their own appeal. After lunch, one feels contented and at peace. In the morning, one may be thinking of the day's plans. In the evening, night is approaching and it is time to retire. But on this Sunday afternoon, I feel that everything is in suspended animation. There is a sense of deep peace all around. I am sitting under the umbrella and, well, just sitting actually. And that is all that is really needed. To just sit and be still.

A benign sun is shining upon a cloudless pale blue sky. It is warm, but comfortably so. Under the shade I feel the soft caress of the cool breeze. All is quiet in the sense every sound simply belongs in the ambience. The ever garrulous birds are chirping away but less intensely than they do in the mornings. They are perhaps discussing the day's meal. The sound of cars going uphill in the main road a few block away is but a gentle hum and just adds the right backdrop. Even the neighbour's dogs are yelping in somewhat hushed manner or not at all. An occasional helicopter flying overhead strikes an incongruous note, a rumble of thunder on a cloudless sky. Closer to the ground, the humming bird flutters feverishly hovering over flowers. A garden lizard appears to be practicing push ups on the concrete floor but scurries away upon sensing the slightest movement. But despite the activity, taken as a whole, the whole world seems to be enjoying a siesta. Gentle notes of a classical guitar emanating from the house have a meditative effect further contributing to the peace felt.

There is nothing really special here. Just a small green patch with a few bushes around. A couple of trees providing shade.  Nothing to make me run and fetch the camera and take a picture. Yet my mind wants the moment to last endlessly for the moment seems perfect. I realize with a little surprise that until this thought arose I had sort of forgotten myself.

Did my mind just intrude upon a perfect scene? No matter. For the mind has the capacity not only to savour the moment but also to save it and make it permanent. It captures everything. It will allow me to recall and immerse myself in this quiet golden afternoon again and again. There will be no need to fetch the album or tap the smartphone. All I'll need is the 'inward eye' as Wordsworth put it.

Sandwich Rules

Consider the sandwich. Two slices of bread with an infinite variety of possible fillings in between. If you need one word to describe a sandwich (apart from 'sandwich' of course), I would pick convenience. Easy to make and easy to pack, it is also extremely easy to handle and eat. Well, it should be. I rejoice when I see a well-constructed sandwich. You would have seen boxed sandwiches in some stores, cut into perfect triangles revealing what's inside. They do live up to the name 'sandwich'. But this is not the norm everywhere.

The other day I got a sandwich from a local deli. When I opened the wrapping, the thing practically sprang open like an over-packed suitcase whose latch had failed. I had a hard time locating the ends of the sandwich and struggled to pick it up.

Why do people think that a sandwich should be so big? Ideally, the filling should not exceed a slice in thickness, maybe a little more. When you have a sandwich that is a foot high, you can barely pick it up much less bite into it (unless you are an elephant).

It requires you to open your mouth wide as if you are sitting in a dentist's chair (a particularly unpleasant thought while eating) and not at the dining table. You know there is trouble when they put a stake (with colored plastic paper wrapped around the ends for decoration) through the sandwich to hold it together. This is insane.

Most people are afraid to open their mouths so wide that they start nibbling at the sandwich from the ends. As you juggle with the sandwich this way, a lot of the good stuff inside is spilling out. As you pick it up and take a bite at one end, out goes a slice of cucumber or tomato from the other end. The mashed avocado meanwhile is seeping out on all sides coating your fingers. Ditto for mustard and mayonnaise. Even if you manage to take a bite from the center, it is bound to fill your mouth completely and render it impossible to actually move the jaws. You just resign to eating a deconstructed sandwich by this time which is to say you reach for the fork and knife.

Enough. I say it is time to regulate the sandwich.

First of all, the bread slice ideally should be a square or at least have some regular shape. There is all sorts of great tasting bread with loaves that unfortunately are so oddly shaped that they are not suited for making sandwiches. It is impossible to cut two matching slices out of these loaves. So let us stick to square slices. Next, the slice should be big enough so that the things that go into the sandwich fit comfortably and not hang out. If I put a slice of cheese in it, I don't want it half in and half out. What goes into the sandwich must stay inside.

The bread should be strong enough so that it does not become soggy when various condiments and vegetables are added. Most of the supermarket breads are so soft that they have no structure and are  completely useless. Just add one slice of tomato and the bread practically turns into mush. Even if it does not, when you pick up the sandwich the lower slice starts sagging and separating from the top letting the fillings spill out. But while the bread should be capable of holding its structural integrity, trying to use liquid dressings in a sandwich is simply madness. Yet some delis persist in offering oil and vinegar as toppings to their sandwiches.

Finally, there is no such thing as an open-faced sandwich. I mean it is an oxymoron. It is like a one-legged trouser. It is an affront to the very definition of sandwich and what the word has come to mean.  It takes two slices of bread to make a sandwich, period. Without the second slice, you do not have a sandwich. You just have a slice with stuff piled on top. You do not have half a sandwich either in case some smart aleck thinks so. You get a half sandwich by cutting through a whole sandwich.

So there you have it. Simple rules for the sandwich which I am sure the 4th Earl of Sandwich who is credited with having invented the sandwich (which now bears his name - well technically the name of the place Sandwich and not his name, John Montagu) would have heartily approved.





Large Sandwich Image Courtesy: http://www.clipartpanda.com/clipart_images/nutritious-hot-lunch-sale-3801628

English Sandwich Image Courtesy: GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], from Wikimedia Commons

The Debt

'Raja Interiors and Furniture' said the bold sign outside. Suresh paused for a second and then decided to go in check out the shop. Inside, the showroom was well laid out and the pieces of furniture looked well made. They had a touch of classic styling but seemed suitable for modern apartment living. As he looked around, a tall man approached him and asked him what furniture he was looking for. He looked vaguely familiar to Suresh and in a flash he realized this was Raja. His mind went back a few years when he was in college and was home for the holidays.

***

'Can you make it?', father asked the carpenter. Raja, the carpenter hesitated. He was a young man in his thirties with a sullen look. He was not sure what to make of father . He was actually being asked to make a front door with a carving. It seemed ages ago that he had made a carving. And that was for an art gallery. Most people simply wanted furniture. Of late, even those orders had dwindled. Everyone preferred factory-built stuff.

Father had sought him out and appeared to be really interested in the wooden carving. 'Yes, I can', Raja finally replied. 'But I have to procure the right wood for it. And it will cost seven thousand rupees. I will need an advance of three thousand'. 'Sure, no problem,' said father who was pleased that Raja had agreed to make the door. And so the deal was struck as Suresh who was on his holiday watched with interest.

Suresh had recently visited his ancestral home in his village with his father. He was inspired to see all the woodwork in those houses. The front doors made of solid wood usually had a lotus motif carved on them. The key was about four or five inches long and required two hands to operate sometimes. The main hall inside had a pillar in the centre supporting the beams and had some ornate decorations carved on it. The ends of the beam which hung over the pillar had equally beautiful details. The look was iconic and beckoned to a bygone era.

There was not a lot of furniture in the homes. People mostly sat on the floor over mats and such. An easy chair or a cot may be found but other than that the house was quite bare. There were a few cupboards which may have been made of teak or rosewood. Perhaps only the very wealthy had chairs, tables, etc. in the old days.

Carpentry had always fascinated him. When he was younger he would stop and watch the carpenters work at the construction sites round. Many new homes were coming up at that time and the workers typically moved from one site to another working on doors, windows and such. The sight of the jack plane shaving the slivers off rough wooden beams, shaping them into regular sizes with smooth surfaces was absorbing. The sweet smell of wood chips and saw dust pervaded the air. The carpenter would then use the chisel and hammer to create the joints to assemble the frame as his assistant would stand by at his beck and call.

Suresh's father had recently bought a house. Well, a plot of land to be more accurate and he was having a house built on it. He wanted to bring some of the traditional look from his ancestral home to the new house. He was also keen to furnish the new house with furniture that was made along classic lines but still would fit in well in a modern home.. He had wondered if carpenters still made them. Upon asking around, a friend had recommended Raja. He first asked Raja to restore an old piece of furniture he had picked up and was impressed with his skills. He then decided to engage him, first to make the door and then some furniture.

A week after Raja had left with the advance, Suresh was getting anxious. There was no word from him. He started wondering if father was right to trust Raja. Father made a few inquiries but with no success. After about ten days, Raja showed up again. But it was quite a different Raja. It seemed as though he had shrunk since the previous time. He avoided eye contact and Suresh thought he was ashamed of something. It was clear that Raja would have preferred to be somewhere else.

Maybe he gambled the advance away, thought Suresh. 'Did you get the lumber?', father asked hoping that there was a different explanation. Raja was silent. Father repeated the question. 'No, I ..', came the stuttering reply. 'I had to spend the money on an emergency. My mother took ill and is now in the hospital', he continued. He was looking away and was clearly struggling with the emotion. 'I will repay the money somehow soon. Please give me some time', he said looking down.

Suresh looked at him. He was distressed to see Raja like this. 'Poverty strips away a man's dignity. What separates me from Raja other than money?', he pondered. He was at that idealistic age. True to his form, father did not seem angry or agitated. He thought for a while and then said to Raja gently, 'Let us not worry about the money right now. How is your mother?'. Raja told him that his mother was improving and he could get back to work in a couple of days. 'Very well, then. Come back in a week and we will discuss this further'. Raja seemed relieved to hear this and went away after again assuring that he would return with the money soon.

Raja did not come back in a week. Suresh assumed that Raja was a lost cause. He somehow felt betrayed. It seemed that his faith in human nature had been diminished a little. He was sure that father would never see that money again. He had said as much to his father who however seemed to be more understanding and rather accepting. 'I know he has every intention of repaying the money', he said, 'But it is very difficult for him to come up with that kind of money. It may seem not too significant to us but it can ruin someone like Raja. We have to give him all the time. And if he is never able to return the money, so be it. After all it was used for a good cause'.

Suresh's holiday was over and he had to get back to his college. He never broached the topic with his father again but seeing no carved wood on the front door on his next visit, he assumed that Raja had never returned. He decided it was best not to bring up the topic with his father. His father too did not mention it. He had not thought of this episode all these years and now here he was face to face with Raja. From the looks of the showroom, he had clearly prospered since he last saw him.

***

'You are Raja, aren't you?', Suresh asked and added somewhat sharply, 'You may not remember me, but I have seen you many years ago. You were to make some furniture for us but you went away with the advance money'. Suresh expected this to cause Raja to feel guilty but the latter seemed delighted. 'You are Mr. Raman's son! I am so happy to see you. How is your father doing?'. Suresh was puzzled. Upon talking to Raja further he came to know what had happened all those years ago. He realized that his assumption about Raja was totally wrong. Raja told him the whole story.

'After I left your house that day, I desperately wanted to pay your father back. I would never use a client's money for anything other than the job and I felt very guilty and ashamed. So I borrowed the money from a professional money lender and took it back to your father. Anyone in his position would have been just relieved to get their money back. He however, questioned me thoroughly on how I had raised the sum and found out what I had done. He refused to accept the money and told me that I should never borrow money to pay another loan. He then asked me to first return the money to the lender so I could be free of the usurious interest.'

'It was too late for the door. As the construction was getting delayed, he had decided to go with a standard door. He then said that I should treat the money owed as a loan. He would wait until I was able to earn and save enough to pay it back, a little at a time, and he would charge no interest as that was against his principles. I vowed that I would work hard and repay him soon. I decided to come here to the city where the prospects are better. By God's grace I have made it this far. I wished I could have paid the money a little at a time but it was a struggle for a while before my luck turned. When I had the three thousand rupees saved up, I went back to repay your father. I was also determined to pay him a fair rate of interest. But your family had moved in the meantime and I could not trace your whereabouts. So it is my good fortune that you have dropped in today. Where do you live now? I would very much like to see your father again', he finished in an excited voice.

Even though Suresh knew his father's kindness and compassion well, he was moved by this revelation. He now had to tell Raja of his father's passing two years before. Raja's eyes filled with tears and he was quite upset to hear the news. He then said, 'Well, at least I can pay you the money that I owe. I have been keeping track of the interest too. Please accept it'. He then brought out his cheque book and started writing out a cheque. Suresh stopped him gently and said, 'I cannot accept this. Please use the money to help someone in need as you were helped then. That would please my father immensely. That is what he would have wanted. I am sure he never had any intention of accepting this money'.

Ode to the Bicycle

'This is not one of ours', said the shopkeeper when I returned the rental bike to him. I was stunned. 'How did the key open this lock then?', I tried to argue. The shopkeeper almost mockingly said, 'Lock? you call that a lock? All you have to do is sneeze loudly and it will open'. I had rented the bike a couple of hours before and had been on an errand for my mother. Apparently I had switched it for someone else's bike in the process. How could it have happened? More to the point how was I to make the switch again?

****

I had recently learned to ride the bike and was eager to do chores for my mother. Learning to ride a bicycle is one of those childhood milestones that everyone is supposed to pass. When you don't have a bike at your disposal, it is kind of hard to learn to ride one. Children's bikes were not common when I was growing up. After the tricycle, there was the adult bike. Until one grew tall enough to handle a full sized bike, one simply had to wait. Not every household had an adult bike either or if there was one, it was most certainly being used to go to work and back by an adult. So one had to squeeze any lessons when the bike was free and someone was available to teach.

One way or the other, you gained access to the bike and an instructor (read older sibling) and after a few days of trial and falling you mastered the bike. Now you wanted to ride everywhere on the bike but had to wait your turn when it was free. All of sudden you were eager to run errands - get vegetables from the market, cash a cheque at the bank or get groceries. All you asked was to be able to rent a bike and ride it to the shop. Of course, having finished the trip, one could use the rest of the rental time for riding around freely.

There is something to be said for the bicycle. Before them and before motor cars, I suppose one had to rely on horses for getting around quickly. As a personal vehicle, horses leave a lot to be desired. They are expensive and consume vast quantities of hay and such. They also have an exhaust problem. The bicycle on the other hand requires little by way of maintenance and costs far less. With good care, it lasts generations. Bikes cause no pollution - air or noise, there is no exhaust to clean, and they definitely do not smell. The only requirement is a certain amount of muscle power. All right, I will admit that may be a deal-breaker to many but still...

The bicycle is also known as the velocipede. Thankfully, we do not use that term widely now. It sounds more appropriate for an insect. The precursor to the bicycle was called 'dandy horse' and required the rider to push the ground with his feet to move. From that to the modern bike has been an interesting journey. The design of the bicycle went through many stages before the rear-wheel chain-driven model became the norm.

For some, the love affair with the bike more or less ends with learning to ride. For some others, it is a passion for life. Many others continue to actually use the bike as a personal transportation. You may recall that in China, the bicycle was used very widely by workers of all kinds. In fact, China was dubbed the 'Kingdom of Bicycles'.  But did you know that it was not easy to get a bicycle in China in the 60's and 70's? I believe that the waiting period was several years and you might still need to have 'connections'.

The modern cutting edge design may use carbon fiber and such but the old workhorse bikes still rule the roads in many countries. They can be seen carrying immense loads on the rack on the back wheel. You can see cooking gas cylinders being transported on bikes among other things. The bikes themselves have changed little from the single-speed solidly built models of yore all in black. Or did we also have some green? Whatever the colour, they seem to have endured and I see that they are still being manufactured and sold.

In the US, there are attempts like National Biking Month and Bike to Work Day to get people to adopt the bicycle. But it really is more of a recreational thing. I use the term 'recreational' somewhat loosely. When I see people wearing those tight-fitting biker shorts, perched on impossibly tiny wedges that pass for seats (or should I say saddles?), with their bodies bent at an aerodynamic posture complete with helmets and goggles, recreation is not the word that comes to my mind. Each to his own, I suppose.

The bicycle has long been the vehicle of choice for the romantic hero in films when serenading the lady of his dreams. Remember Paul Newman and Katherine Ross in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head)? Or Rajinikanth and Kushboo in Annamalai (Rekkai katti Parakkuthu)? It is hard to imagine using a motorbike or even a horse in these scenes. Perhaps if the hero was trying to elope with the girl but otherwise, I am sorry, it just does not work.

****

Coming back to my predicament, I now had to get the original bike back. I was really apprehensive. What if the owner of the bike had raised an alarm? Even if he had not, would I not look suspicious parking one bike and riding off with another? Luckily all was quiet outside the shop and the bike was still there as I had hoped. I casually parked the cycle and then quickly retrieved the rented one.

As I got ready to leave, I heard a voice call out, 'Hey, you!'. I was petrified. I tried to ignore it but the voice continued, 'Is this yours?'. I was now near panic. Surely, I had been found out. I turned around slowly thinking the worst but I almost fainted with relief to see the owner of the voice holding out a bag. 'No', I said and quickly jumped on the bike and shot off from there. All is well that ends well, I suppose even if I had to sweat a little. Well, more than a little given the Chennai weather.

Image Courtesy: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Left_side_of_Flying_Pigeon.jpg

A Nice Ring

Remember when all phones had the same ringtone? In fact, no one used the term ringtone then. All phones were black and looked about the same. The first time I looked at a phone up close was in my grandfather's house a long time ago. I was about three then I think. The rotating dial with the characteristic sound it made when numbers were dialed was fascinating. By the way, if you thought I was talking cell phones, I would say that you are either too young to have known the rotary phones or old enough to have forgotten them.

When I was a little older, we got a phone of our own, courtesy of my father's employer. This phone did not have a dialing mechanism at all but when you picked up the handset off the cradle, you got the operator at the exchange who asked, 'Number please?'. We were living in a small town which was serviced by a manual exchange. You had to be connected at the switchboard to the number you wished to call. I wonder now if the operator had the ability to listen in on the calls. 

Getting a phone in India was such big deal for the longest time. So much so, having one in your house sometimes turned out to be a nuisance as neighbours made use of it to make and receive calls. But this also provided an opportunity for some. They would allow neighbours to make calls but place a box for contributions discretely (!) next to the phone. Local shops with phone connections allowed nearby residents to use their number to receive calls. You would call the shop and ask to be connected to Mr. So and so in A-3. They would charge the recipient of course but the service included sending the boy to fetch the customer when a call came through. When I first came to the US, it was quite a dramatic change from all this. Here I could just walk into an telephone shop and walk out with an instrument of my choice. The service would be turned on in a day or less. A revolutionary concept to me then. 

Phone service in India has come a long way now but it was a slow journey for the most part. I remember having to book long distance calls and wait as there was no direct dialing. In an emergency, you placed what was referred to as a lightning call (meaning the charges would accumulate at lightning speed!). When the call came through, you had to be quick to get your message across before the operator interrupted the call to announce 'Threeee... minutes'. Since you paid for a minimum of three minutes, you did not want to be too quick either. Obviously, trunk calls were only used to communicate really urgent news. Usually this meant bad news making people apprehensive when they received such a call. But nowadays one can call internationally and chat for hours for pennies. And feel not a tinge of nervousness when someone calls from abroad. 

Direct calling to India from the US was not available for many years and one had to go through the operator paying exorbitant charges. When it did become available, it was still quite difficult to get through. You often got a message that said, 'Due to heavy congestion in the country you are calling, your call did not complete'. It was bad enough not being able to get through but the bad grammar on top of that was like rubbing salt on the wound. 'Complete' is a transitive verb for God's sake. It reminded me of other statements like, 'The product will begin shipping Thursday'. Shipping what? But I digress.
 
The instruments themselves have evolved from the simple black phone into all sorts of shapes, from desk phones to wall models, and culminated in the cordless phones with features like speed dialing and digital answering machine. By far the feature that was most heavily used by expatriate Indians, I am sure was the last number redial. It allowed you to keep retrying your call rapidly (and cut off the annoying message short too) until you got through. This feature was also highly touted by Hyacinth in the series Keeping Up Appearances ('I must answer my white, slimline telephone with last number redial, it's bound to be someone important').

Cell phones have pushed the so called land lines to the background and many people have even dispensed with them altogether now. If you still have one, you receive so many telemarketing calls that it is seriously annoying. Things have changed in other ways too.You might recall dramatic movie scenes where the bad guy disconnects the call by pressing the button on the cradle just as the damsel in distress is about to be complete it. Can you imagine that with a cell phone? And gone are scenes where people received calls at restaurants with the waiter bringing a phone to the table and plugging it into a nearby socket. 

I think the advent of personal cell phones has also changed family dynamics considerably. Before them, everyone relied on the one line in the house. There was contention to use it, and angry outbursts ensued when someone hogged the line for long periods. Parents knew whom the children were talking to and sort of knew what was going on with them. There was less privacy and perhaps fewer secrets. When calls came for someone who was out, messages had to be taken. A little note pad and a pen were kept by the phone for this purpose. Family friends got an opportunity to chat up the children when they answered.  

With everyone having their personal phone I wonder if we have lost something. The family phone created an invisible bond that is now gone. The family phone - it has a nice ring to it, don't you think?