A significant event in the field of technology occurred this summer — my mother-in-law learned how to make a call on Skype with her iPod.

Sleeping in on a warm, sultry Friday morning, I was awakened by the familiar ‘wan, wan’ sound from my tablet and on it was the word ‘Ma’, like a cheesy Bollywood movie.

It’s all my wife’s fault. I had asked her to teach texting to her mother when she went to Delhi for the holidays, so that I would not have to repeat myself again and again when I speak to my ma-in-law on the phone.

My ma-in-law has selective hearing. She chooses to hear only what she wants to and it does not matter how many times you repeat it, the message somehow does not reach home. So, I thought sending my words to her on a screen would be a better idea, instead my wife went and bought her an iPod.

“Hello”, said a disembodied voice when I tapped on the screen. “Hello”, I croaked back a little disoriented as all I could see was a dark room and a fan overhead.

“Are you sleeping?” asked the voice and then I saw just a head of white hair and lurking somewhere in the dark background was a figure wearing a black kaftan. Trying to rub the sleep off my eyes, I made a serious mistake. “Aaaah”, I said in a feigned shocked voice. “What is that behind you?”

I thought it was funny when I said it, but I knew I would rue the day I said it and will never again get my fav aloo paratha when I go to Delhi next.

There was shocked silence for a while, then a nervous giggle from my ma-in-law and she said, “That’s Venkie”. Then I heard a “humph” from the background and the black kaftan, the housemaid, walked away, as the sofa spoke to me.

I then realised that technology in my hands, or in my ma-in-law’s hands, is a dangerous thing.

Anyway, for the duration of that call I spoke to a painting on the wall, my ma-in-law’s slippers and then her cup of tea. I told her that I could hear her clearly, but that I cannot see her at all. “Oh, sorry,” she said and focused the iPod camera to her ear.

Now she wants to surf the internet and find out what’s bothering her, health-wise. “None of the silly doctors here know what’s wrong with me,” she said, as I tried to explain how Google works, sitting here in Dubai.

“You click on ‘file’ and you will get a drop-down menu,” I said, and realised I was sounding like an IT guy who was supposed to be sitting somewhere in Atlanta, Georgia, but was actually in some suburb in Mumbai.

When we bought her a cell phone some years ago, she would always end the conversation with the words, “OK, I am now going to put down my phone”.

I think she misses her chunky, black instrument with the rotary dial. When she was upset with someone she would bang the phone down on the receiver and she would have a dreamy look on her face.

Unfortunately, you can’t do the same thing with a cellphone. All you can do is just silently switch off the caller by pressing a tiny, red button, which is not the correct way to express displeasure and there is no real satisfaction of knowing that you have cut someone off with a bang right in the middle of a sentence.

Then her cell phone would somehow call me while sitting in her handbag. “No, I didn’t call you,” she would say. “I never use my phone when I am outside.”