It’s hard to imagine how awkward we were on the telephone a few decades ago. I had grown up with a phone at home. At work, we had to speak on the phone quite a bit too. But once I got married and left the city for one army cantonment after the other, telephones were rare commodities. We had no phone in the house — and we never felt the necessity for one.
Invitations to parties and get-togethers were issued in writing or in person. Gossip was spouted aloud or whispered into each other’s ears if the person who was being talked about was present in our midst. It was everyone’s hope — futile, of course — that he or she wouldn’t catch on.
When we eventually got a phone in our home, it was the local army line and I couldn’t call my parents and relatives in other towns and states. Nor could I talk unreservedly to friends who also had an army connection at home. One, because it was meant for official business and we took that rule seriously; and two, because we were not sure how the whole system worked and who was listening to what we said ...!
So, when at last I came to the city and got a private phone, I was awkward on it. It was used for pretty basic stuff — and lay silent and neglected the rest of the time.
Even when the man of the house was posted in a station where we could not join him, and he called once a week or so, there was nothing much we said beyond “Is everything okay? / Yes, everything’s okay”. On one occasion, from that faraway town in Kashmir, he had the opportunity one evening to talk as long as he wanted to from a civilian friend’s home. However, the two-sentence drill was ingrained by then, and we soon fell silent — and the friend took over.
He had plenty to say and spoke comfortably about the party that was going on, what was on offer at the table, and other small talk. That he could do it with a stranger across the country — me — inspired admiration in me. And off I went to the writing table and dashed off a letter to my tongue-tied no-better-than-me half ...
Why, I asked, couldn’t you have an easy conversation with me the way your friend did?
Of course, in the usual way, with letters crossing and questions being forgotten when answers were received — and therefore a constant state of confusion and very little communication — that matter was forgotten.
And we did not get more adept at telephone talk with each other.
Then came the great telecom revolution. Suddenly, it was normal for everyone to walk around, hands free, while they talked endlessly to friends and family. We held out a bit but eventually gave in and soon each of us had not one but two cell phones.
I tried to figure out the reason for two mobile phones, given the amount of time we spend not talking to each other, and then I realised that maybe not talking is the reason why we need those phones — because the instant either of us leaves the house (You’re right: That silent house where no words are exchanged), a message is sent with crucial information. “Movie cancelled / Visitors expected / Get snacks” or something on those lines.
What’s more, it is acknowledged with an “okay”, a “yes” or a “good”.
And I wonder why and how, when we are face-to-face, nothing like that ever happens ... no small talk, no momentous revelations, not a blink, not a tweak of the eyebrow ...
Could that little distance we now put between us — the front door — actually make hearts grow fonder and communication lines clearer?
Cheryl Rao is a freelance journalist based in India.
