Since my phone hasn’t rung tonight

                                                             Less of this, please

As with most things in life (my body, work, book, clothes, family and sundry ex-boyfriends) I have a complicated relationship with my cell-phone. There are days when I love it—when I’m receiving  a flurry of messages from eligible bachelor or connecting finally with a source I’ve been chasing or when my mother  or sister or Z or A calls up at the end of an awful day, just to tell me they miss me.

But there are other days, I long to throw it away. Or better still stomp it into the earth until, like Wordsworth’s proverbial Lucy it, “ceases to be.” Like when random people who speak only Hindi ask for Ramkayalli and abuse me terribly when I refuse to tell them where he is (it is a recycled number that was owned by the hitherto mentioned Ramkayali who incidentally has around 1.5 l in Vijaya Bank ALL THE TIME,  lucky bugger); or when PR girl calls to tell me that company XYZ is launching a new frying pan that sings while oil sizzles and that as singing cookware is now a trend, I should definitely do a story, pegging it on XYZ (I know I’m being mean, but still…); or when significant other (potential or existing) doesn’t text or respond leaving you too distracted to function; or when my voice notes get deleted or refuse to download; or when I spend an entire day trawling Facebook in my PJ’s while all the world and its sister are conquering mountains, getting hitched, running marathons, losing weight, writing books or partying wildly till the wee hours of the morning.

Of course, cell-phones are great. You can download super-cool apps that book cabs, tell you how many calories you have eaten, keep you constantly connected with everyone you want to ( and many you don’t) etc but it’s also awfully intrusive, at times.  And oh, so addictive….

I got my first cell-phone only in my third year of college. It was my father’s hand-me-down—an ugly, grey, boxy thing nothing like the sleek, sexy handset I now own (or it owns me, I say).  I just thrilled that I finally owned a phone without a wire and no longer had to crowd outside the slightly malodorous PCO booth in college and glare at some dreamy-eyed young lady coochy-coing into the phone while the rest of us melted in the oppressive Chennai heat. Besides, I’ve always had a thing for things like laptops and emergency lamps and walkmans (it doesn’t become walkmen, no?) ---pretty much anything that works without having to be plugged in (A shrink will  tell me it’s a sign of commitment phobia, methinks?).

It probably was the phone that was with me for the longest time. Then it got traded in a couple of times, and then again till I finally got the one I now own—an Iphone 4 S.

You remember that slightly cheesy number (I loved it in college, of course) of Celine Dion that said something like, “If walls could talk, ooh they would say I want you more.” I must admit that I'm glad that cell phones do not talk. I was be horribly embarrassed by the epistles (I keep forgetting it is Short Messaging Service) I have composed on them.

“Dear Mr Love of My Life (No. 105). You were the best thing that happened to me. I have never felt this way about anyone. Since, we cannot be together, though, I wish you well. I hope you find someone who makes you happy (yeah, right).  As for myself—I resign myself to my fate .Yours Preeti. (I kid you not; I have cluttered inboxes with messages like that)”

Or, “Don’t worry, girl. He will spend his life regretting it. You are brave and strong and beautiful and you will find a man who sees you for what you are (like really—can it get more cliché than this?)

Even worse, “What did I do so wrong? Why did things have to turn out this way? (yes, choosing your fate is like choosing neck-patterns at the tailor. I’m sure Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos will spin it just the way I chose)

I know it’s a bit late in the day for New Year resolutions but I’m giving this one a shot. Break surgical attachment to phone. Put it away when you are talking to someone and walking on the road. Stop analyzing people’s state of mind from a single sentence long message. Avoid stopping mid-breath during a yoga session to take a quick peek. Don’t trawl Facebook when you have time to waste—read a book or talk to someone, instead. Put it on silent at night and stop looking at messages when you get up to pee or drink a glass of water. Stop arsine Good morning and Good night messages to random folks who don’t give a damn either ways. Switch it off completely, not put it on silent mode, during a movie or play.

And hopefully discover that glorious sound of silence for a bit—I haven’t in so long.