Ever since they got mobile phones for themselves, my parents have been devoted to the Idea network. Right from the times when we were asked to hand up immediately after giving the message (‘Do you know we are charged almost eight rupees every time you call?’) to now, when mom calls up as she’s walking down the stairs out of the house just to remind us to put the juice bottle back in the fridge. Cell phones have been a strange fascination; they are, even now. Everybody wants to have his or her very own ten-digit number. Everybody included me too. I longed to grow up just to get that set of ten digits against my name. (‘We’ll get you a phone when you grow up.’) Time passed, and yippee! I was now the proud owner of a brand new number; needless to say, it was an Idea number (‘ Idea’s the best, you know.’). Yeah right! What an idea! All my money burnt to ashes, with some left for a regular subway sandwich. I couldn’t even replace that wretched thing with a better number. (‘You want those ot
Lalita Surabhi