Time Out 8212; Cold-calling Bablooji

A couple of months back my telephone instrument suddenly went out of control. It would connect me anywhere and everywhere, but never where ...

A couple of months back my telephone instrument suddenly went out of control. It would connect me anywhere and everywhere, but never where I actually intended to connect. I made desperate appeals to a whole slew of telephone complaint centres for help, but the situation resolutely failed to improve. The damned two-piece little thing simply refused to obey me. Finally I rang up the Chief General Manager8217;s office and the lady who attended to my complaint God bless her, and may her tribe increase! promised to see to it that the errant instrument was replaced without any delay.

She proved to be as good as her word. The very next day, some linemen arrived with what looked like a telephone instrument. The thing was rather antique, an article which might have been salvaged from the debris of a great house fallen on bad times. 8220;Old instruments are only replaced by old instruments,8221; the leader of the team explained. 8220;But this one looks positively ancient,8221; I protested. The man shrugged his shoulders. There was obviously no choice. They seemed to have only this instrument to spare.

The moment it was installed, it gave up the ghost. I was deeply impressed by its promptness but I wished it had been equally prompt in performing its assigned role. Fortunately, the linesman seemed to know its pulse. He blew into the receiver and gave the contraption a small coaxing slap and lo and behold 8212; it experienced instant revival. I was asked to make some test calls. I made two calls, and the old relic passed with flying colours.

I took pains to clean the grime of ages off my new instrument. Its looks improved remarkably but it remained a reluctant performer. And within a couple of months its condition worsened dramatically. It became absolutely moody and started springing frequent surprises on me. The other day I rang up a friend. A young feminine voice answered. 8220;Is this 51-4298?8221; I asked. 8220;Sorry,8221; she said. 8220;Wrong number.8221; I rang up again.

It was the same voice that answered. The same thing happened again and yet again. The girl remained remarkably polite and patient. But when I rang up for the fifth time she lost her cool and snapped: 8220;Uncle, kuchh to khayal karo have a care!8221; 8220;Daughter,8221; I said, 8220;I apologise.8221; Finally, I had to go to my brother8217;s house and use his phone to talk to my friend.

On another occasion, when I made a call, it was the police control room that answered. Another time, I rang up one of my relatives and found myself talking to a hospital.

One day I received an outstation call. The man at the other end seemed to be in a state of agitation. He said he was speaking from Karnal and had rung up to speak to Vinod in Faridabad. I told him I was speaking from Delhi. When the telephone rang again I found the same person on the line. He seemed to recognise my voice. 8220;How come?8221; he muttered. 8220;Delhi again!8221;Some days back, I got a very special call one that was to change my life forever. The person at the other end said, 8220;I want to speak to Babloo.8221; 8220;No one by that name lives here,8221; I replied. 8220;Is this 574-0342?8217; he asked. 8220;Yes, it is,8221; I replied. 8220;But Babloo said this was his latest telephone number,8221; the man persisted. I simply hung up. But off and on, someone keeps calling up and asking for Bablooji.

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So, for the general information of all those who have already tried to speak 8212; or might at a future date wish to speak 8212; to Bablooji on my phone, I want to solemnly affirm and declare that no person answering to that name is available on my phone, nor to the best of my knowledge and belief does he live anywhere in this block of ten houses in Delhi, out of which one is mine, and8230;

Before I could complete the last sentence of that paragraph the telephone started ringing. It was a call for Bablooji!