2nd April 2014 was a tragic day. The wind was strong, blowing up a sand storm. I stepped out of my car, braving the dust and strong winds, which made opening eyes a task. I had washed my hair that morning and was worried about having to wash them again to get the dust out. I had to pick up a couple of outfits from the boutique and needed some cash. I was coming straight from work. Although not quite trustworthy of the Andhra Bank ATM at the Amprapali complex close to my home, I went there anyway for want of better and closer options. Thankfully the transaction went smooth. It did not gobble up my card and refused to give it back like it had earlier. But it did pay up the sum of Rs. 1000 in 100 rupee notes. I exited the stuffy, dimly lit ATM cubicle trying to stuff the currency notes in my wallet, while trying to keep a grip on my keys and phone. I wish I had a pocket in my green cotton kurta to keep my phone and keys in. Because if I had kept it someplace safe, my phone would not have slipped out of my hands and fell down two black marble steps. My phone. My beautiful phone with its (now dirty) neon green cover. My lovely, loyal and trustworthy Samsung Galaxy Note 2. It slipped, fell and cracked. The screen cracked into a hundred pieces. The back cover and battery came off. I stood on top of the stairs with my mouth agape, not believing what had just happened. I picked up the pieces, rushed to my car, put the phone together and kept it in the passenger seat. Refusing to look at it. Denying the fact that it had broken. I backed the car carefully and drove to the boutique to collect my outfits. I left the phone in the car's dashboard.
After parking outside my society and clutching my handbag, where I had put all my stuff safely, I ran for the lift. It was when I got inside when I pulled out my Note 2, ran my fingers over the broken screen and entered the pass code pattern. I quietly assessed the damage, fighting back the urge to cry. The touch worked fine, I could still see the display clearly despite the large number of big and small gorge like cracks. The touch and display was fine. Well, that was a relief. I entered home, vented out to my brother - in - law and we went out to check repair options. I thanked my lucky stars that the screen could be replaced. Although the price they quoted could have bought me another fancy smartphone. But the damage wasn't permanent. My husband promised to get my phone looked at in Gaffar market, popular for electronics. I put on a brave show of feeling assured and cooked a nice feel - good dinner of kadhi chawal. But I never looked at my broken phone again as it brought tears to my eyes.
The next day I only had an old LG office phone. No internet access, no applications, camera just for formality, no instant email access, no touch. I was sympathised with and teased at office. I was to be smartphone less the entire day. No, the blog will not end with how the day went by so peacefully and I felt relaxed and blah blah. Because I missed my Note 2. A lot! I missed the constant bird chirps which notified me of my emails, texts, whatssapps, FB and Twitter updates. I missed quickly glancing through my gallery and looking at pictures when I thought of someone close. I longed to play Jetpack Joyrider, Table Tennis and the new game (Daddy is a thief) I had just downloaded. I missed the political, sardar, PJs and adult jokes on the various whatsapp groups that kept my mood light. I felt frustrated when I couldn't look up for some old emails or information instantly. I just missed the feel of the glossy back cover on my palm and the attentively responsive touch on my fingers. I hated going to the stinky washroom post lunch to check if I had something stuck in my teeth instead of just checking it with my phone's front camera. I absolutely missed the wallpaper of Bobby and me on the phone and smiling back at our smiley selfie. I felt awkward looking at my wrist watch instead of turning on my phone every 30 minutes to check the time. I missed feeling cared for when my phone tells me that I was 17 mins from home if I took this or that route every time I left office. I just missed my Note 2 a lot.
I found myself pacing the balcony at 11:30 at night, not waiting for my husband to return home this time, but to see my phone again, which he had so thoughtfully gotten fixed in just a day. I had made pasta to celebrate my phone's second innings. I ran to the lift when I saw him entering the building and greeted him there. And the feeling of holding my Note 2 in my hand again was exquisite!
The one day without my phone shook me and made me realise how much I love this not - so - little piece of technology. I might be addicted or it might be responsible for the frequent pain in my neck and shoulder, but I cannot do without my smartphone. To apologise to my handful of a gadget, I am treating it with a new screen cover and phone cover very soon!
P.S.: Note 2 is an amazing phone. It deserves all the love and care you can lavish on it.
