New Phones for Old Eyes

He explains that one can see through them up, down and sideways (heck, even backwards, I assume), and that the vision is perfect. I nod and take a deep breath; my eyes have been blurring over the last six months and I’m definitely due for a visit to the doctor. But if this is what glasses cost, it’s an expense that will annoyingly wangle its way into my life and never leave. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I’m in denial about what it costs to stay alive as it is.

But a few more weeks of sending out unreadable messages, I give up and find myself in the clinic, eyes closed — someone’s just poured drops into them to dilate the pupils and I’m told I won’t be able to see clearly for a few hours after. It’s a long wait till the drops act — about 45 minutes — and a huge sign asks us to be quiet and not use the phone. So, I throw my head back against the chair, shuffle down, and fall fast asleep (the perks of being a working mother: one can sleep anywhere anytime), waking up 40 minutes later, refreshed, with nice blurred eyesight, though not blurred enough to miss the looks on the faces of my neighbouring patients who are watching me with varying expressions of amusement and disapproval.

The doctor’s ready to see me, and he declares that I finally need reading glasses. The power is low, and as I’ve never used glasses before, I’m told to come back the next day to check if the power prescribed is correct, and only then to go out and buy them. “How much will they cost?” I ask timidly, and he answers vaguely about there being all kinds of options and that it depends on the kind of frame and lens and so on.

“How much will they cost?” I demand of my long-suffering team at work, who are forced to follow my life and times more closely than I suspect they’d like, and they look at me rather sadly and explain that there are all kinds of options and that it depends on the kind of frame and lens and so on.

Then someone recommends an online seller and I’m instantly drawn in, especially because he throws in my favourite four-letter word — “deal”. I’m off and away surfing the crests and peaks of offers, discounts and freebies till my eyes threaten to fall out, and I retreat, confused and overwhelmed by the varying offers, all of which seem to be designed to force me to buy multiple pairs of their product if I am to save even a single rupee.

“How much will they cost?” I ask the junior doctor the next day, as I clamber on to the chair and place my chin on the cool metal plate that allows this man to shine bright lights into my eyes. And finally, I find a kindred soul.

“Madam, do NOT buy those fancy glasses,” my prophet declares. “All you need is one of those over-the-counter sets.”

“How much will they cost?” I whisper.

“Rs 150. And they come in pen-type cases that are easy to store. Even if you lose them, you won’t feel it.”

With those words of wisdom ringing in my ears, I set off to track down those wonderful Rs 150 reading glasses.

I wish I could claim a happy ending but all the stores I visited swore they were out of stock and had no idea when the next lot were expected. Finally, I settled on a pair for Rs 250, with a not-so-sleek but user-friendly blue plastic case, hanging off a rather flashy chain of pink beads (that the daughter said was SO uncool, but whatever). And so, now I can read the subtext of fake offers and the fine print of Aadhaar forms that ask for documents I don’t own and pore over the gruesome details of whatever violence the neighbourhood is currently experiencing on our Facebook group, but it’s all worth it because I own a new phone.

Zainab Sulaiman is an author, special educator and human resource specialist based in Bengaluru.