2020: Story 9: The Cure
The haze and the smell hit me first. The offending frankincense burns in a copper urn, struggling to create an atmosphere of divinity. I look at the mass of people sitting in the room. The smell of their anxiety competes with the frankincense and I feel my insides heave.
I make my way gingerly to the front of the room, following close behind my mother. I’m tempted to hold on to her saree pallu as I did when I was a little girl. But I don’t think it will go well with her now. She’s grown so distant, and I won’t be surprised if she smacks my hand away.
Amma is bowing to the godman sitting on the little stage. His keen eyes take her in, and with an imperious nod of his head, he invites her to share the problem. She points at me. The godman shifts his gaze to me, and a random memory flashes past my mind. Amma hugging me after I had accidentally knocked over her cherished porcelain vase. I wasn’t a problem then. Now, I am. Problem with a capital P. Or PROBLEM in all caps.
“She’s glued to her phone day in and out.”
I roll my eyes. I know the litany that’s bound to follow. I study the other people in the room. Some are lost in their own world, gazing at something beyond what the human eye can see. Others have closed their eyes, and their lips move in tune to some chant that I hope is providing solace to their hearts and souls. A few are listening avidly to what the godman is saying, and I wonder if they also have a 20-something daughter who they think is addicted to social media.
“….YOUR PHONE,” Amma is glaring at me and holding her hand out.
I give her a smug smile and part with my phone, knowing she won’t be able to get it to open without my fingerprint. I flash a mocking smile at the godman and wonder if, at his age, he even knows what a cellphone is.
He takes my phone from Amma, turns it this way and that, and then places it in front of the little altar set up on a side table, chanting some incantations. I’m itching to take a pic of this scene, caption it “Cellphone Addiction Cure” and wait for the LOLs to roll in on Facebook and Insta.
My phone gets handed back to me, and I start to ask if I can take a picture, when Amma digs her elbow into me, and throws me into a coughing fit.
I ignore the stony silence that pervades the car and log into my Facebook account. I hate the new look of my old favorite social media platform. So typical of FB to push the video and group tabs to the center and push all of my notifications to the edges.
I tap on ‘Home’ and Sheba’s birthday pics load. She’s got a 1009 likes after just an hour of posting! Woah! That thought bubble over her head is really cool! I zoom in to read, and the next moment, my fingers fumble to speed dial Sheba.
“Are you crazy, you idiot?” I scream into the phone. Sheba doesn’t get what I’m talking about. “Why did you insert that stupid thought bubble into your birthday pic? Have you even seen the nasty comments that people are making on your post?” I’m beside myself with rage and embarrassment for my dear friend but she’s acting crazy. First putting up that thing, and now acting like nothing happened and cutting me off, saying she’s busy!
Amma is now intrigued and wants to know what happened. I’m disoriented by the shock, and forgetting our cold war, I thrust the phone at her. “Why, it’s such a cute pic of Sheba, she looks great in that baby pink outfit!” she coos.
“But see what she’s written in that thought bubble!” I yell.
“What thought bubble? I don’t see anything!”
I grab the phone from Amma, and using my fingers, I enlarge the pic and thrust the phone back at her, pointing out the thingy to her. “See this!”
“What do you want me to see in Sheba’s hair? Has she colored it again? It doesn’t look that way to me.”
I gnash my teeth and grab the phone back. “Can’t you read without your glasses? See what a catty thought that is!”
Amma gives me a look that says she thinks I’m acting crazy. I drop my eyes back to Sheba’s pic. The words in the thought bubble dance before my eyes. “Are you looking at this pic, Roma? See how your boyfriend is clinging to me? Have a great day, baby!” Roma isn’t my friend, but I’d never do something like this to her. And oh, God, the comments and the way these guys are cheering Sheba and jeering at Roma!
Mindlessly, I scroll down my FB feed. Uncle Rajan has posted pictures from a family vacation in Thailand Uncle is hugging his wife with so much love and they’re both looking happy together. I’ve never seen Amma and Appa hug for a photograph; they always stand a little apart with a stiff smile on their face, waiting for the moment to pass.
I zoom into the pic to look at that monument in the background and suddenly, Uncle Rajan’s face takes on a grimace and a thought bubble pops up. “I wish I had never brought this horrible woman along. She’s ruined my entire holiday!” I can’t believe my eyes! I zoom out and zoom in again, and there’s a new thought bubble I see now above Aunty Rajan. “What a boor he is! Always ordering me around to do this and that for him! But he has his benefits. The ladies in my kitty party group will go green with jealousy looking at this pic!”
I burst out laughing, and when Amma asks why, I say, “I knew it, I knew they weren’t happy together and only posing!”
“They, who?”
“The Rajans. See this!” I thrust the phone into Amma’s face.
“Why, they look perfectly happy on their holiday! You say the oddest of things! I think being on social media all the time has addled your brain!”
I take another look at the pic. The thought bubbles are still there, dancing in the air, belying the happy expressions on the faces of the people they represent.
We reach home and I spend the rest of the day being stunned and aghast, and LOLing by turns.
Over dinner, Amma tells Appa about the Rajans holidaying at Thailand. "Show him the pics," she says to me.
"Umm...I'll show you later. I left my phone in my room."
I can see both of their eyebrows go up as they take in this statement.
"My God, he must be a really powerful saint," says Appa with a smile.
The next morning, I sneak into the godman's room. Alone. I hand my phone over to him and say, "Make it go away."
"Swamiji doesn't know anything about mobile phones," chides a young acolyte standing nearby.
The godman gives me a toothless, benign smile and hands my phone back to me. He pats the space above my head in blessing and then let's me click a selfie with him.
I send this pic to Amma on Whatsapp, chuck my phone into my bag, and rush to renew my membership at our local library.
 |
| Pic credit: Rosco Spectrum |
Amma is bowing to the godman sitting on the little stage. His keen eyes take her in, and with an imperious nod of his head, he invites her to share the problem. She points at me. The godman shifts his gaze to me, and a random memory flashes past my mind. Amma hugging me after I had accidentally knocked over her cherished porcelain vase. I wasn’t a problem then. Now, I am. Problem with a capital P. Or PROBLEM in all caps.
“She’s glued to her phone day in and out.”
I roll my eyes. I know the litany that’s bound to follow. I study the other people in the room. Some are lost in their own world, gazing at something beyond what the human eye can see. Others have closed their eyes, and their lips move in tune to some chant that I hope is providing solace to their hearts and souls. A few are listening avidly to what the godman is saying, and I wonder if they also have a 20-something daughter who they think is addicted to social media.
“….YOUR PHONE,” Amma is glaring at me and holding her hand out.
I give her a smug smile and part with my phone, knowing she won’t be able to get it to open without my fingerprint. I flash a mocking smile at the godman and wonder if, at his age, he even knows what a cellphone is.
He takes my phone from Amma, turns it this way and that, and then places it in front of the little altar set up on a side table, chanting some incantations. I’m itching to take a pic of this scene, caption it “Cellphone Addiction Cure” and wait for the LOLs to roll in on Facebook and Insta.
My phone gets handed back to me, and I start to ask if I can take a picture, when Amma digs her elbow into me, and throws me into a coughing fit.
I ignore the stony silence that pervades the car and log into my Facebook account. I hate the new look of my old favorite social media platform. So typical of FB to push the video and group tabs to the center and push all of my notifications to the edges.
I tap on ‘Home’ and Sheba’s birthday pics load. She’s got a 1009 likes after just an hour of posting! Woah! That thought bubble over her head is really cool! I zoom in to read, and the next moment, my fingers fumble to speed dial Sheba.
“Are you crazy, you idiot?” I scream into the phone. Sheba doesn’t get what I’m talking about. “Why did you insert that stupid thought bubble into your birthday pic? Have you even seen the nasty comments that people are making on your post?” I’m beside myself with rage and embarrassment for my dear friend but she’s acting crazy. First putting up that thing, and now acting like nothing happened and cutting me off, saying she’s busy!
Amma is now intrigued and wants to know what happened. I’m disoriented by the shock, and forgetting our cold war, I thrust the phone at her. “Why, it’s such a cute pic of Sheba, she looks great in that baby pink outfit!” she coos.
“But see what she’s written in that thought bubble!” I yell.
“What thought bubble? I don’t see anything!”
I grab the phone from Amma, and using my fingers, I enlarge the pic and thrust the phone back at her, pointing out the thingy to her. “See this!”
“What do you want me to see in Sheba’s hair? Has she colored it again? It doesn’t look that way to me.”
I gnash my teeth and grab the phone back. “Can’t you read without your glasses? See what a catty thought that is!”
Amma gives me a look that says she thinks I’m acting crazy. I drop my eyes back to Sheba’s pic. The words in the thought bubble dance before my eyes. “Are you looking at this pic, Roma? See how your boyfriend is clinging to me? Have a great day, baby!” Roma isn’t my friend, but I’d never do something like this to her. And oh, God, the comments and the way these guys are cheering Sheba and jeering at Roma!
Mindlessly, I scroll down my FB feed. Uncle Rajan has posted pictures from a family vacation in Thailand Uncle is hugging his wife with so much love and they’re both looking happy together. I’ve never seen Amma and Appa hug for a photograph; they always stand a little apart with a stiff smile on their face, waiting for the moment to pass.
I zoom into the pic to look at that monument in the background and suddenly, Uncle Rajan’s face takes on a grimace and a thought bubble pops up. “I wish I had never brought this horrible woman along. She’s ruined my entire holiday!” I can’t believe my eyes! I zoom out and zoom in again, and there’s a new thought bubble I see now above Aunty Rajan. “What a boor he is! Always ordering me around to do this and that for him! But he has his benefits. The ladies in my kitty party group will go green with jealousy looking at this pic!”
I burst out laughing, and when Amma asks why, I say, “I knew it, I knew they weren’t happy together and only posing!”
“They, who?”
“The Rajans. See this!” I thrust the phone into Amma’s face.
“Why, they look perfectly happy on their holiday! You say the oddest of things! I think being on social media all the time has addled your brain!”
I take another look at the pic. The thought bubbles are still there, dancing in the air, belying the happy expressions on the faces of the people they represent.
We reach home and I spend the rest of the day being stunned and aghast, and LOLing by turns.
Over dinner, Amma tells Appa about the Rajans holidaying at Thailand. "Show him the pics," she says to me.
"Umm...I'll show you later. I left my phone in my room."
I can see both of their eyebrows go up as they take in this statement.
"My God, he must be a really powerful saint," says Appa with a smile.
The next morning, I sneak into the godman's room. Alone. I hand my phone over to him and say, "Make it go away."
"Swamiji doesn't know anything about mobile phones," chides a young acolyte standing nearby.
The godman gives me a toothless, benign smile and hands my phone back to me. He pats the space above my head in blessing and then let's me click a selfie with him.
I send this pic to Amma on Whatsapp, chuck my phone into my bag, and rush to renew my membership at our local library.
I wrote this in the first week of September but only got around to posting it on my blog today. Can you guess the prompt for this story? It was "Jealous of..." 😊
As always, waiting to hear your thoughts!
Interesting read... Anu.
ReplyDeleteWell written...
Thank you, Bhanu!
DeleteHa ha.,..
ReplyDelete🙂🙏🏼
DeleteApt for the Today's...Hari om
ReplyDelete