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V Gangadhar

Hello, hello, yaar pesaradu?

Telephones are very much in the news in India these days. Ever since the Indian Express, published, for two consecutive days, the contents of certain taped conversations on its front pages. These conversations took place between some leading industrialists scheming to help one of their brethren who is now in the docks because he helped the ULFA terrorists (who operate in Assam and the north-eastern parts of India).

The tapes were as interesting as the Watergate ones. Even the expletives were not deleted. Some of the industrialists freely used four, five and six letter words which would have embarrassed their sons and daughters. As I read with fascination the contents of the taped conversations, I was certain that the late Alexander Graham Bell, the inventor of the telephone, must have definitely turned over in his grave. He would not have expected his invention to be put to such use.

Telephones are part and parcel of urban life. Why, four-year-olds dial the numbers of their friends and gossip about what happened in nursery class that day or discuss the possibilities of flunking 'milk'. At home, despite all my tantrums, my 17-year-old daughter has commandeered the instrument. When she is not making calls, she is receiving them. The conversations, which last for hours, are interspersed with giggles, whispers and occasional screams.In the meantime, my work suffers.

When I was her age, I rarely used the telephone. In fact, I first handled a telephone when I was all of 12 years old. My father, as the revenue divisional officer at Fort Cochin, was entitled to an official telephone. The instrument actually existed at the bungalow when we moved in. Gosh, how thrilled we were when we became aware that father's official perks included a telephone.

The instrument had no dialing system. We had to call the exchange first and give them the numbers we needed. As far as my sisters and I were concerned, the telephone was no use. None of our school friends had phones at home. But each time it rang, there was great excitement. All of us rushed towards the instrument so that we would be the first to lift the receiver and utter the magic words, "Hello, hello!"

Our cook, Subramanian, who had been with us for nearly 10 years, had never been in a house with a telephone. When he joined our family, he was thin, emaciated and sported a tuft. After some years, he had become stout, moved around with difficulty and had removed the tuft in favour of cropped hair.

During both his working and leisure hours, he was always waiting for the telephone to ring and joined the race to pick up the receiver. He was not bothered that the rasam was boiling or that the rice was in danger of being overcooked. Whenever he heard the phone ring, he was off like Jesse Owens at the start of the 100 metres dash. Despite his bulk, he managed to beat us in the race to the telephone on most occasions.

All he could say into the telephone were the words, "Hello, hello, yaar pesaradu (who is speaking)?" Subramaniam had a rich baritone voice and was under the impression that if the caller was some 15 miles away, he should shout loud enough to be heard over that distance. We pitied the man or woman who was at the other end; their eardrums must have shattered.

Father informed Subramanian several times that it was not necessary to shout into the mouthpiece. But this had no effect on our cook. He always referred to the telephone as "delebone" and looked at it with awe and wonder. Once he asked me how the telephone worked. So I picked up science books and tried to explain to him the intricacies of Bell's invention. To date, I don't know how much of it he understood.

Friends, of course, never called us. But, every morning, my maternal grandfather who was living at Ernakulam called up to talk to mother. He was a lawyer and made the calls from the shop of a client. Initially, mother was a bit flustered at having to answer the phone, but soon accustomed to the experience. They discussed a lot of subjects, including the day's menu at both the homes, illnesses in the family or the celebration of religious festivals. Subramaniam, an interested listener, stood close by.

The telephone was put to good use whenever one of my uncles from Bombay came home on vacation. He talked to his friend and we listened with rapt attention, marvelling at his ability to speak English so fluently. Quite often, he used Hindi words and phrases like "Chalta hain (will do)", "Theek hain (okay)" and "Dekh lenge (we'll see)". Our admiration increased!

After Fort Cochin, father was posted at Kozhikode from where he retired and moved the family to Palakadu. There was no telephone at home, but then we hardly missed it. Urgent information was conveyed through telegrams which took their own time to reach us. No one in those days liked to receive telegrams, which were mainly used to convey bad news like deaths or illness of family members.

Some 15 or 20 years later, I had my own telephone at my own home. This was achieved after quite a struggle, which included an appeal to the minister of telecommunications, New Delhi. He refused to help because I was not an accredited correspondent. I was not bothered. Finally, the telephone arrived, only to be monopolised by my wife and daughters. But I have no complaints.

Illustration: Dominic Xavier