STD – A Disease & A Cure

Sundays were funny days during those days. 

Mobile phones were largely unheard of. At best, they would be seen as walkie-talkie toys in Hollywood movies and some really snazzy music videos which had chase sequences. Just a few years before this time of our lives, the most common mode of communication was letters. The next mode for urgent messages to be sent were still telegrams. For news of death or imminent natural and unnatural dangers, like someone’s daughter had run away with the driver, trunk calls were booked. Only a handful of people had access to landline phones. 

At the time that I come to share, landlines had become fairly common at residences of the privileged. To possess one of these instruments and to actually have a live connection, I hear, some natural and unnatural rituals including Tantrik routines were performed. Some unreliable sources claim animal sacrifices to have been made so that MTNL shows mercy. Few had landline connections. And to reach them, the vast majority now had access to shops that had an STD/ISD-making business. During my college days in Calcutta, I would work at one such STD booth. The most interesting fact is my college timings were 0630 AM till 0930 AM, in the morning. This meant, by the time a large part of the City of Joy was still rubbing their joyous eyes contemplating how to waste today, my today was over! I was out of college gates and into the STD shop by 1030 AM. The job didn’t pay much. But I did realize soon enough that if I pay attention, not so much to the business, but the people, their emotions, the slow-motion events of everyday Calcutta and rearrange all that seems scattered, I will gather a lot. In a few months, a Ladies’ Tailor set shop next shutter. That is another world to conquer some other time! Within a few years from here, some of these once small-time STD booth operators had become smart businessmen! They had invested monies from STD/ISD into a larger communications business. With further financial aid from friends, relatives, and many a time loans from a certain bank where friends and relatives worked, some of them had a booming cybercafé as their core business with few STD/ISD booths and a couple of printers & photocopiers doing XEROX! I believe, only XEROX breathes within Canon & HP machines now.

Sunday was the only day when there was no college for me and since I was supposed to have come into the habit of waking up early because of my college timings, I was sometimes made to open the shutters of the shop at 0630 AM until someone took over giving me the breakfast break till I went back to relieve that someone for his lunch break. And the cycle went on, around the meals of the day. Sundays were brisk business for the shop too. Right from the time shutters went up, every few minutes there was someone walking in to break news. The walk-ins were profiled well later in time. Really early mornings were mostly booked by parents who wanted to speak to their children studying/working in another city or sports freaks who would just barge in, make quick 20 seconds calls calling their idiot friends & informing them that they won’t make it to the grounds as their parents found out he had failed a subject or sudden change in venue of the match or that one’s elder brother had snatched away the fresh t-shirt and hence he needs the dirty one. Pre-lunch slots ranged from invitees who were running late for a lunch invitation, to people who were calling to cancel their trip, and a few odd ones sometimes who were inviting people on the spot! I was invited to one such lunch myself in lieu of the next STD call that would be made by this particular family. Post lunch was like a Russian Roulette. You never knew what’s coming. While Calcutta has always been infamous to enjoy siesta even on working days, Sundays were magical. There was supreme activity Sunday post-lunch. Young couples would keep hopping in and out to confirm, reconfirm or reschedule their Sunday evening rendezvous depending upon the climate at home. Young married girls would come to complain about mothers-in-law. Some mothers would make hurried visits for their daughters and rush off. There were businessmen hoping to catch their lender or borrower at home on a Sunday afternoon and make their case for a Monday meeting. I loved the matchmaking conversations between people on Sunday post-lunch game time when the virtues of the girl would be served like starters, main course, and the best sweet dish after a Sunday lunch. Or the boy was being described by the relative on my side as if he was personally groomed by Arun Govil to take over the mantle of Ram in the next Season of Ramayan. 

There was a grumpy old-aged personality who would walk in, hand over a number scribbled on a scruffy piece of paper, which would mostly go unanswered, and then that person would sit for ages sharing life experiences for whatever time it took to finish. Apparently, the person had the time and so did I! It did sound boring, initially. But as time went by, and the visits became regular, I found myself half-waiting for this particular personality. With time, I could sense that this person came prepared too, almost rehearsed to make an impression on me. Finally, there came Sundays, when the person would come only to have a conversation with me. No phone number, no paper. No grumpiness. Guess, I had answered his call.