A return to Delhi after five years offers an interesting comparison of how things change. And how the more they change, the more they remain the same. My attention was drawn to the lamp post facing my house. It had the distinction of being a solitary dissenter even on the nights our road could boast of being well-lighted. Five years ago, I apprised DESU of the incongruity several times but to little avail. It would oblige us for a short time, but soon relapse into its old ways. With hope aroused by the appreciative talk I had heard about the work done by our local MLA, I proceeded to contact him. At Directory Enquiry, a sweet voice gave me the number. I dialled straight away. But, no reply. I turned to the helpline. But that seemed to have gone tipsy. The moment had come for seeking a common friend’s assistance. I got two phone numbers and a mobile one too. One number responded with an endless beep. At the other, a voice said it was a bank’s number, not the MLA’s. The last option was the mobile number. An answering machine said something I couldn’t follow. Shortly after, the bell rang: It was the MLA. ‘‘It’s nice of you to call back’’, I answered, ‘‘did you get any message from me?’’ ‘‘No, only my cell phone showed the number as an unattended call. I did not even know whose call I was answering.’’ My campaign relating to the dafaulter pole seemed to have reached a dead end. I remembered just then the local corporator, Khanna, who had called on me, but efforts to approach him proved equally disappointing. I dialed the number on Khanna’s visiting card: A machine advised, ‘‘This number has changed’’, and directed me to get the new number from another number. Another taped voice responded. ‘‘Welcome to the changed number service.’’ In order ‘‘to get the new number, after the beep dial the old number.’’ I did as desired. The voice was back ‘‘the number you have given is . If the number you have given is correct, after the beep dial 8 otherwise dial 9’’. I dialled 8. But that didn’t end the matter. The voice promptly returned to say ‘‘the number you have given is not included in the changed numbers’ list. Please dial 197’’. I did the needful. There was the usual taped welcome, request to wait, followed by music, interspersed with the repeated assurance, ‘‘your call is important for us, kindly wait’’. The wait ended. I repeated the exercise. Was asked to wait again. Waited. Was bored to death. The lesson: In our dealings with technology, coordination is lacking and there are far too many human errors. It is past midnight as I finish this. I go out to check on the electric pole. It is burning bright. But perhaps I shouldn’t mention it lest the evil eye affects it again!
