Mobile phone | Ramu Das

Wow, what a week it had been! First we had our annual fest and then there was the eggjam’s result.

The twin-brothers (called so and so) who are my close friends in the college had scared me by creating a fake site which showed our eggjam’s results when the results were not yet declared by Mumbai University. The brother who was elder to the other by seven minutes put his eggjam’s seat number on that site in his phone (of course, the phone had internet connection), and it showed he had passed the eggjam, he started grinning. Then, he put another number, this time his brother’s, it, too, showed he too had passed.

Then he asked me what my seat number was, I told him, and much to my disbelieve and dismay, the result showed that I had failed. I felt a pounding in my head. But it took me sometime to realize that it was a fake site, that is, when the twins could not bear with my pitiful lamentation they admitted that the real results were not yet out. “Screw you, both!” I blurted out in anger, and they laughed, and I laughed as well.

The next day, however, as we were gratefully enjoying the concert – the famous Indian Rock Band called “Agnee” was rocking the stage with their fantastic music, they were invited to perform for our college as a part of the annual fest – at night, the twin brothers had once again informed me, glancing at their cell phone that the results were out. “No more pranks,” I declared.

“No, it’s the real result, I swear,” said one of the twins, very earnestly.

“Oh, the real result, eh? I said mockingly, and then added, “Don’t want to know what it is.” I was really not ready to play yesterday’s prank, moreover, I was fully engrossed with one of Agnee’s famous number (“Sadho Re”), and which was also one of my favorite song.

Agnee, oh what a band it is! They played with such melody that I felt I should not be bothered by anyone while listening to their tracks. It was live. Opportunities may hardly come twice. But the stubborn twins were determined to know what my number was: “C’mon! Tell us your seat number, dude?”

I was still cynical, “Oh, if you so care, why don’t you check yours first?”

“Beg your pardon, but we have already done it, and we both have passed.”

“Oh la la, passed! Just like yesterday, eh?” The cynical me was saying that. “I gave the number yesterday; don’t you guys remember what it was?”

“No, we don’t. It’s your result, what do we care! Don’t say what your number is, and no one would tell ye right away if ye have passed or not.” That was one of the twins, giving me a kind of emotional demand. Suddenly, I became curios, and made my willingness known to them, “Yes, I want to know the result,” I said. “Without minding if it was fake or real,” that I did not say as both the brothers were getting sentimental. “You want my number, so be it!” I said and gave them the number.

“Dude, you have passed!” exclaimed both the brothers with enthusiasm.

“Oh, have I?” My sarcasm was hidden somewhere within myself. Ah, at least they didn’t say that I had failed like they did yesterday.

“Yes, yes, you have, and we have. Now, we must party!” suggested both the twins.

“And who is throwing the party?” I enquired.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“Who? Me? ha-ha! You see, I have a hole in my purse, and everything I had in it, has fallen down. Everything is lost, you see.” That was my way of telling them that I wasn’t paying a penny for anything.

“No problem, we will, we will. After all, we are the sons of a big gun.” That came from one of the twins, a sarcastic remark indeed.

“Well, well, there you said it. Canteen or some other place?”

“Canteen, of course,” said one of the more sensible, miser brother, because eatables in canteen were much cheaper than any other hotels nearby.

“Saving money, eh?” I cajoled them to go somewhere else, but to no avail.

I was still not sure if the brothers were lying about the results or speaking the truth, so right after coming back home, I opened Mumbai University’s site, and I inserted my seat number into a box, and there it was, my result. It said: “You have passed. Congratulations!”

Now, I have one more semester, and one more eggjam coming up in the month of April, and then I can call myself a graduate. After all, I can say, Mumbai University is not that bad.

The bureaucrats can betray us; can do anything with their prowess and by administering their powers wrongfully. Of course there are few exceptions. But what most of them do is only for their own benefit. Seldom can one catch them doing something unethical and illegal. Even if they get caught, they can easily get away with their misdoing, they have all the means as you, dear readers, may know. After all, aren’t the lawmakers the lawbreakers, and vice versa? I mean, they show the way: the wrong way, the selfish way.

But, I cannot help being happy now. This short story will elaborate the reason for my happiness… read it.

You see, I went to the MTNL office to pay my internet bill for the previous month. I asked the women on the billing counter to give me my bill. She was playing chess (or something) in her computer and didn’t pay me attention. Perhaps she thought I wouldn’t mind sitting there till she was done with her game. But I did mind, and I made my displeasure known. She left the game, and after muttering something under her breath and glancing at me disapprovingly, started looking for my bill in the computer.

“What’s you number?” she asked, meaning she wanted my telephone number by which she could get my information and printout my bill. I didn’t remember what my number was. However, I saved it in my cell phone, and so I took my cell phone out from my pocket and gave her the number. The woman was slightly deaf, for I had to repeat the same numbers thrice and I had to speak with all my strength.

She typed the numbers on the keyboard, and looked at the screen. I guess she was not only slightly deaf, but also slightly blind. Although the screen of the computer was really very big (twenty inches, I suppose), but she had to move her head as close to the monitor as it was possible. It seemed, as though, she would get inside it.

“You are,” She said looking gravely at me, “Ramu Das?”

“Right,” I confirmed. Then she said that there were no bills pending. I thought she was joking. As far as I could remember, I didn’t pay the bill, and nobody would pay the bill on my behalf. I’m always on my own.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Hundred and ten percent, take my word for it!” she answered impatiently.

“Good heavens! How is that possible? Please check the database one more time,” I suggested. But by that time the women was already busy with her game. She raised her brow and gave me weird look, I was petrified. Why? Why isn’t she behaving in the right manner? Perhaps she has not known about the new philosophy that ‘customers are the kings and queens’. Doesn’t she care about her business? I thought.

“Ma’am, you need to be a little more diligent in your duty,” I blurted out. When she heard what I said she smiled by opening her mouth as far as it stretched. I saw she was absolutely toothless – a sign of old age. She, then, suggested that I should go to the left corner counter and speak with the gentleman reclining on his chair. “Out there,” she pointed out, “he might be able to help you.”

What, I didn’t need any help. In fact, I was the one trying to help them out, because as it seemed they made a mistake in their entries, and therefore, could not generate my bill. I felt it was my moral duty to speak the truth, so I did. I spoke with the gentleman. He said the same thing as the women.

I was happy, I considered myself lucky, moreover, I was in great need of money at the time, I had to take care of those needs, and the MTNL people proved to be a saving grace. Oh, it happens very rarely. I didn’t try to fool them by any means. But what should I say about their stupidity?

I think these MTNL people should get some vigorous training from the high level bureaucrats and politicians, especially from the officials of UPA (Under-Privileged Alcoholics’) government. Of course, in the mean time, they will also learn some Italian cuisine. And y-y- yes… some Italian political tactics as well. Ha! That goes without saying.

A Thinking Man