Bongo, my young nephew, 24, an M.Sc from Boston, brought a smart phone for me from the United States. Handing it over to me flamboyantly he told me, this is the in-thing, aunty. Throw away that dabba you call a phone! I had travelled to Hyderabad to meet my cousin’s son.
After an hour. Bongo, how do I use it? I’ve been sitting for the last hour without making any headway. He chuckled. Play with it, and you’ll learn to use it. Playing with gadgets is the way to learn how to use them. Play? I am not a child to play with it! Why can’t you teach me?
Sorry, not today. I’m preparing a presentation for my boss. Bongo had been appointed sales manager a week ago. Okay, so, when? I persisted. I’ll tell you.
I waited four… five… six days. Bongo never seemed to find the time. Finally I went to him and said in my sweetest voice, hey Bongo, I’m gifting this phone back to you. It’s no use to me, you might as well use it! Sorry, aunty. Come, I’ll teach you.
So like an eager student, all eyes and ears, I sat by his side, anxiously looking at him punch this key, that icon — until I lost track of what he was doing.
Bongo, I stopped him midway. I can’t understand what you’re doing. Can’t you go slower like a good sales manager? I mean, explain it to me step by step? Bongo looked at me exasperatedly and began his explanation again, more Rajdhani than before. Hold on, sonny! I interrupted, is this the speed at which you sell stuff to clients?
Yeah! Bongo’s cheek muscle twitched. And they understand? They not only understand but they also buy. He was emphasising every word with deliberation. I’m sure they do. You are so handsome. Can’t you be serious? No wonder you can’t learn. I am serious, Bongo, but I can’t understand what you’re saying.
I can’t teach you! Bongo put down the phone on the bed. Was that supposed to be a compliment? Aunty, why can’t you learn? I learnt it in five minutes. You guys learnt computers in Class II. We weren’t even allowed to touch the old radio at home. It’s going to take time to learn. I looked at him and told him in my most cajoling tone: I want to learn, I’m trying to learn, am I not?
Bongo’s chin had acquired a stubborn roundness. Aunty, to be honest, I don’t have the time or the patience to teach you. He looked at me obdurately and fell silent. Nothing was working out.
What shall I do with this device? I don’t know. Throw it away! Maybe learn from Savita.
Savita is my house help. What a smart idea, Bongo. Why didn’t I think of that? I remembered Savita’s adeptness with her smart phone. That’s a great idea. She may be really good, you know. Better than managers!
Bongo was looking sullen and asking me to leave him alone. I laughed. I was enjoying the fun. Just in case you are wondering what was happening, Bongo and I are like buddies with a 35-year age gap.
On returning to Hyderabad, the first thing I did was to ask Savita to teach me to use WhatsApp. I told her frankly, look, I’ll need more than a one-time explanation and I’ll need handholding. Maybe I’ll forget what you teach me. So please re-explain. Don’t worry, Madam.
My lessons began. And what a difference! Being taught by a Boston-returned millennial and a Class 11-passed maid. Savita addresses me as ‘madame’, corrects me ever so gently and waits patiently until I have learnt a particular aspect.
I can now use WhatsApp confidently. I can send messages, answer them, attach photographs, forward them, delete them. Only I need to learn how to copy a link from Google to send it on WhatsApp.
Now I’m waiting for Savita so I can acquire my next lesson.
My advice to all who have a problem with their smart phone: Just learn it from your househelp!
