No-Kia

I lost my phone.

Big deal, right? You can't throw a stone without hitting somebody who hasn't. You know the drill: block number, lodge complaint, get duplicate SIM, hunt for a decent handset. And hope to f****** god you hadn't added any new numbers after that last synchronization.

Right. The catch is, this is my fourth phone to be replaced. Or maybe my sixth. Or seventh. My friends -- though I'm not too sure if they do fall in that category -- will be able to tell ya better. Personally, I couldn't care less.

But my friends, they thrive on such lapses in my judgement! They consider my phones a permanent source of entertainment, and not the let's-see-what-new-songs-you-added variety either. Even before I got my first cell, I had faced umpteen friends lamenting on the fact that I don't have one yet. 'But of course, what's the point in your getting one?' They'd immediately tagged on. 'You're going to lose it anyway.'

You get the point? Smacks of the Greek tragedies. Doomed even before being born.

So I had a point to prove. My first baby lasted an entire year and a half. Or maybe even two. I'm sure my friends have forgotten THAT! And then of course Euripedes caught up with me. My phone got dunked in Sprite. And I haven't been able to live it down yet.

Ok, I agree it's maybe not exactly what the Nokia stress tests have in mind, though if you really think about it, why ever not? You have a phone in one hand, along with some books or stuff. You have a PET bottle of the fizzies in the other. You shove the stuff in the left hand into a plastic bag you're carrying. You take a swig from the PET in the right, close your eyes to feel the cool caress your throat, and thrust it into the bag before it gets warmed up, forgetting that the cap hasn't been screwed on tight.

Not really that weird, right?

The next one had quite a boring finale. It stayed with me for all of two months, I think. When the time came, it slipped quietly out of my pocket in some cab seat. I still have the dress. I still feel the pocket for the bugger. I still remember how people laughed -- quite nonchalantly, like a prophesy fulfilled.

I am a little hazy on the family tree after that. Maybe a coupla phones later, I changed jobs, retired my old phone because it was hiccuping a bit, and got a spanking new one with a spacey keypad that wouldn't cramp my fingers while texting. That got pickpocketed in a bus. But who can keep track of a mom, two huge shopping bags, a fancy-ish dress being ogled at in a crowded bus, AND a phone?

Result: Another round of raucous laughter.

I wonder if they started betting on it then. There seemed to be such an air of anticipation! Chance acquaintances who really had no reason to be in on the sad habits of Nokia-snatchers in the city would come up and merrily ask if I still have that last phone.

'Which phone?' I ask cautiously.

'Why, that XpressMusic you had?' And then they'd split into wide grins. 'You mean you got a new one?'

And then there are these regulars who would greet me with a hi-long-time-no-see-is-that-the-last-phone-still. End with a lift of voice. Cheerful anticipation written all over their sorry mugs.

So people started behaving like addicts deprived of their shot when I actually managed to stay in Mumbai for two whole months with two whole handsets. No slips. No cab leftovers. No buspicking. No quiet melting away. No Sprite.

And then, last Friday, I discovered Eurip had revisited. The phone case was empty. So was the bag. The jeans pockets. The backpockets. No phone. Nada. Nil. Zippola. Zilch.

My friends ODed.
They haven't quite stopped celebrating.

So I'm looking for a new set of friends. I'm ready to disown all the current ones.

All frequenters to Nokia shops, please contact. ASAP.

~3 April 2011