It was the morning of the networks exam. I was wide awake at the ungodly hour of 3 a.m. to fit in a last-minute study session. When I stepped out for a breath of fresh air, the unthinkable happened. Like a dramatic scene out of a soap opera, I could feel my phone slip out from between my fingers. Before it even hit the ground I knew this wasn’t going to be pretty. I picked it up and sure enough, I was staring at a screen that looked as dead as a doornail.
I could feel my heart sink to my stomach. But hey, all hope was not lost. Give it a few smacks and it should be alright…right? Well, not this time. But my parents didn’t raise a quitter. I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. I opened up my laptop and after some frantic googling realised that this probably wasn’t something I could fix by myself at home. According to Uncle Google, my phone’s LED display was broken, and the only thing I could do about it was get it replaced.
Give it a few smacks and it should be alright…right?
Mustering up all my courage, I opened up Whatsapp on my laptop and called my dad. I braced myself for the usual reprimanding and to nobody’s surprise that’s what I got. The typical ‘how could you be so careless’ and ‘I told you this would happen’ ensued. I and dad both decided that the logical thing to do would be to take my phone to the nearby repair shop and see what they say.
At the mobile repair shop, I’m greeted by a young man who looks like he might be in his mid-twenties. In my broken Malayalam, I communicate to him that my phone’s display is broken but the screen is still responsive. He inspects the phone, tries charging it for a while and then calls someone up and explains the situation to them. After some back and forth on the call, he tells me that it’ll take 3000 rupees to fix. Okay, no biggie. But there is one problem. I was going home the next day, and I’d need the phone by then. I ask him if it would be possible to have the phone ready by the next day morning. He confidently reassures me that he won’t even need that long, it will be ready in a few hours. Ah, a wave of relief washes over me. That was easier than I thought.
I had been stripped of my defensive armour, and Spotify wasn’t going to come to my rescue. It was me against the world and I was already losing.
I tried to get my mind off the chaos and focus on the networks exam. As soon as the exam was over, I called up the phone repair guy (let’s call him Arun) and quizzed him on the status. He said my phone was ready and I could pick it up whenever I wanted. Awesome! 10 minutes later and my friend and I are at the repair shop. Arun asks if we can come again after half an hour. Now, that might be an issue. I have a 5:30 p.m. curfew and it was 5:00 p.m. already. But I figured to get my phone back, sacrifices had to be made. My friend and I head over to the nearby thattu kada and get some pakodas to kill time.
As I sat on the rickety plastic chair, I couldn’t help but notice just how vulnerable I felt. Without my friend I had no way of contacting anyone, I had around 30 bucks of cash and the dopamine withdrawal was definitely setting in. As someone whose social battery tends to run low, I use music as a way to tune out certain social situations. I had been stripped of my defensive armour, and Spotify wasn’t going to come to my rescue. It was me against the world and I was already losing.
Thirty minutes are up. I give Arun a call, only to hear some incoherent noises on the other end. I try again, and he doesn’t pick up. Frustration. But the mobile repair shop is only a 10-minute walk away so we head over there. Call it intuition if you please, but even before I stepped into the shop, I knew I wasn’t going to be getting my phone back that day. Arun says that he won’t be able to give my phone back since the guy responsible for fixing it went on a religious pilgrimage and locked my phone up in his house. He said that there was no way I was getting my phone back by today.
Now, I was really frustrated. I had to catch the train back home in less than an hour, I missed the hostel curfew and I didn’t have my phone. When it rains, it pours. And right now it was a whole hailstorm.
When it rains, it pours. And right now it was a whole hailstorm.
As I sit on the train, I wonder how I’m supposed to go three whole days without my phone. All my socials, notes, pictures; basically my life was on there. The encounter at the repair shop reminded me of the train scene from DDLJ, where I play Raj and my phone is Simran. But in this heartbreaking remake, Simran never makes it on the train. I let the steady rumble of the train drown out the incessant mental chatter and surrender to sleep.
The three days go by quickly enough, but it was definitely not without some complications. Without Google Maps, I got lost twice. Turns out my neighbourhood has a lot of roads that look pretty much identical. Mannamoola is a labyrinth and I am no Theseus.
Turns out my neighbourhood has a lot of roads that look pretty much identical. Mannamoola is a labyrinth and I am no Theseus.
But mostly, it was alright. For three solid days, I basked in 19th-century leisure, feeling my nerves softening and my attention span stretching back out. I went on runs. I played with my dog. I looked at the stars. I felt like an ascetic if ascetics periodically wondered what was happening on Harry Style’s Instagram story.
The looming feeling of vulnerability was persistent but bearable. I head back to the mobile repair show and pray to every god on heaven and earth that I’d be leaving with my phone. Sure enough, there it was. I felt like a parched traveller looking at her reflection in the waters of the fountain of youth. He charged significantly more than what was initially agreed upon but at that point, I was just happy to have my phone back.
I felt like an ascetic if ascetics periodically wondered what was happening on Harry Style’s Instagram story.
As I’m thinking of ways to wrap up this post, my initial instinct is to do the whole performative wellness stunt, and talk about how this experience changed my brain chemistry and “unbroke my brain”. But the truth is it didn’t. As tempting as it is to give in to technophobia, it’s the easy way out. This experience, like most things, was not binary. To characterize it as good or bad would be an injustice to its complexity. Do I use my phone less now? I’d say my screen time is around the same, but I do feel a pronounced sense of gratitude when I use it. I’d call that a win.
