P.G. Bhaskar :
My father is 88. And he is peeved. ?He is convinced that the world has gone nuts. He is bemused when he sees my son taking pictures with his cellphone. He stares incredulously as my wife watches ‘television’ on her laptop. He even worries when I make phone calls from my computer. All around him, he sees people indulging in technological buffoonery and the world turning topsy-turvy.
It is a far cry from the world that he has grown up with. In the 40s and 50s in India, the height of technology was the radio; big and brown, perched majestically on a wooden shelf in the living room. From time to time, it would belch out the news in a deep, gravelly, male voice. Gradually, the authorities also permitted Indian classical music to be played on the radio.
Later, in its miniature form that was called the transistor, he would listen to cricket commentary and occasionally also to some Indian film songs.
But the role of the radio was very clear. It did not play hop-scotch. It did not dance the tango or double up as a masseur. It had a job and it stuck to it. So revered was the radio that anyone desirous of possessing it had to make an annual visit to the post-office and pay Rs 15 as ‘licence fee’ in order to earn the right to keep it.
The 50s saw a significant advent – the gramophone. In the following decade, human ingenuity produced a rival music player. The tape recorder raised its tentative head, initially with the large spool tape which then gave way to the compact cassette. But again, each of these had a purpose and they served it. No one saw a need for multi-dimensional functions. The first dual-purpose device I remember was in the 70s. I was gifted a pen, which had a small ‘window’ near the top on which was displayed – miraculously and digitally – the time. Such incredible versatility in a single instrument had never been seen before. I was stunned by this magnificent innovation. A pen-watch! Whatever next! It was a sign of things to come. But the things took their time coming. Over the next decade there were a series of innovations. The first to hit the country was the television; mainly in black and white, but often in grey, snowy grains. Like the radio, you needed a licence – renewable yearly – for the privilege of owning one. In the early 80s, nudged by the advent of the Asian Games in New Delhi, the B&W television morphed into colour.
But all these changes took place slowly and with adequate warning. First you heard about it. You saw pictures of it. Newspapers wrote about it. Those who went abroad, saw it and spoke to you about it. There was a time lag of several years which gave one time to adjust one’s faculties to new developments. It took our family eight years from the time we submitted our application to acquire our landline telephone. That was the pace (or lack of it) at which things worked. (or didn’t). It was only in the 90s (when I moved to Dubai) that the Indian government decided to give telecom a serious push.
It was then that cellphones became common internationally. It made an innocent start. It was big, black, heavy and didn’t fit into any pocket. People like me saw it, chortled and pointedly ignored it. Little did I know that in just a decade or two, it would go berserk and take over all our lives.
Now, that same instrument comes in every conceivable colour from pink to gold. It has turned so ‘smart’ that we are helpless without it. It is our camera, our diary and our phone. Our mini computer, music player and our secretary.
Our grocery list and our Internet connection. It has given us the 2013 word of the year ‘selfie’! Millions of people have pouted into their cellphones and posted their pictures for millions of others to look at. Women look into their phones at traffic signals to apply make-up.
Sometimes, I try to see things from my father’s point of view. How would I feel if cars started flying and bikes turned into boats? But he has now stopped asking me questions about all these things – tablets and smart phones and apps. Just as well, because I really don’t know the answers.
(P.G. Bhaskar is the author of Corporate Carnival and Jack Patel’s Dubai Dreams)
