Private persons, public spaces

The monthly cycle— we swore to ourselves that we wouldn’t stress about this one. After all, it just takes restraint, right?
It never works, though. Every month, around this time, we worry—Were we too reckless? Did we ever go on when we shouldn’t have? Then, our memory strains to recollect—the half an hour on Monday, was that within “safe” time?
Then, of course, the sigh of relief when it does arrive without any major deviation.
Such is indeed the life of a cell phone plan subscriber. With the allotted 600 minutes seeming to run out faster than you can say, “Call on my home phone,” we find it a constant wonder that people are forever speaking over their cell phones. What plan do they subscribe to, that’s what I want to know.
When you’re on the road, you can almost always spot the cell-drivers. Constantly on the phone, they slow down on the fast lane, and change lanes without looking, and don’t seem to hear your car honking. Worst of all, they don’t realize the light has turned green, till it’s too late for you.
Sounds like any Boston driver, doesn’t it?
Cell phones have indeed changed the way we work, play and think. We use our driving time more efficiently and have, in fact, increased our work time by our commute time.
The other day, I was interviewing a man for an article, and he insisted I call him over his cell phone. I was fine with that, though I’m used to people requesting the opposite.
So I talk to him, taking my own sweet time, not realizing that he has used his drive time to talk to me. So, when he tells me, in mid-sentence, “I’ve just arrived,” I’m thinking about how pompous he sounded. Only later do I realize that he was actually driving the whole time.
Cell phones have helped us manage our lives better, but how about interaction with “other” people?
I remember the train rides in India, where we would exchange life histories with the families sitting next to us. In fact, a few weddings have been arranged on the train itself!
Of course, we probably sometimes overdid it, falling prey to the biscuit bandits. We did expand our horizons, or so we thought, when we conversed with the people aboard the train.
Now, with cell phones, the iPods and the ubiquitous laptops, I wonder— do we ever take that baby step to actually venture outside our “known” circle? Do we ever want to know the other point of view? Or even, a glimpse of another person's life?
We recently flew to California and Arizona, and invariably, the person sitting next to us had an mp3 player that, apparently, could last five hours (or, they were pretending, which is even more terrifying). With personal TV screens on our return flight, avenue of talk was completely shut off.
With books, at least I think, it often opens up a conversation. The cover of a book is a lead, a gap for an opening line of introduction. With TV screens, though, peeking at a person’s screen and saying “I love that show!” somehow doesn’t cut it.
I thought my cover, being Indian, would open conversation. Indeed, it does in some places. “Oh, you’re from India! I once had a friend/girlfriend/boss/professor who was from India,” it usually begins. With so many Indians now in the U.S., this cover doesn’t quite make the cut anymore, at least not in bigger cities.
When my Japanese friend gifted me a book, with the cover pages all wrapped in white, and explained to me that it was normal in Japan for people to cover their books, I was surprised, but figured that the Japanese were very private people. Or just plain careful with their stuff. Or, perhaps, extreme perverts!
I was reminded of the days in India when even a simple thing like going to a store required being able to talk to the shop owner. “How much is sunsilk shampoo?” “Give me four of those” “How much is that chocolate?” Doesn’t sound like much, but it was still talking to a breathing soul, and sometimes we argued politics, reviewed movies, and I know that the ‘Murugan Store’ guy likes KamalaHassan.
On my recent trip to India, I found, to my dismay, that Murugan Store, was now Murugan Shoppee, a supermarket. (What is it with the spelling of "Shoppee", esp in stores across India?)
That’s why I like going to the library, even if I end up not reading most of the books I get. The woman at the check out counter seems to know about all kinds of books, and never fails to comment, even if a sentence, on at least one of the books I check out.
Anyways, we realized that we could have gone on the entire Arizona trip without really speaking to a single soul. Nothing more than a nod, a smile or a “hi”, but was required at any place. Menus carry numbers, tickets are all automated, and hotel rooms just require you to say your name, or show a confirmation receipt from hotels.com.
Of course, for those who do want to converse desperately, they can talk to the hotel manager, or to the flight attendant.
For those of us looking for a smile, or a sign that someone would like to know more about us, or something that says they think we might make for interesting conversation, hope seems to be dimming.