Staying Tuned to Technology

My morning walks are mostly with Aunty, and occasionally with my son when his work-home schedule permits. With Aunty the chats are interspersed with basics of spirituality. She switches to fitness only when she observes me behind in pace.  Her tips are of a high order, one of which is to have to wake up before Brahma Muhurtam (4 am). I lend my ears, nonetheless. 

The walk with my son can be classified into three. One, dog-walk where he is less concerned with Max getting friendly with other pets than on preventing him from turning hostile. Two, when he attends a meeting with his headphone on. Marked by total silence, a passerby could easily mistake it for a two-man silent protest-march, with only a black armband or a red flag missing. Three, no specific engagement - and is free to chat. 

“So, Appa, what are you busy with these days?” he asks on one such occasion. “I borrowed three large-print books from Library.” “Authors?” he quips, a stickler for complete information. “Jeffrey Archer, David Baldacci, and Mary Higgins Clark,” I reply. 

“Did you finish any, by chance,” he persists, knowing his Dad too well.  “No, not exactly. Primarily because I made the mistake of picking hard-bound versions. Too heavy to hold.”  

Back home he briefs me on the ‘audiobook’ concept. Very convenient. Just mobile in pocket and air-pod in my ears. This had its flip side too. You walk around home listening attentively to the professional reader modulating his/her voice suiting the scene. Other members feel forced to have to give advance notice when they want to talk to me so that I unplug the air pod.  More often they give up, with a never mind. This deprives me the best of both the worlds.

To overcome this, my son unearths one of the three Kindle tablets from among the debris in the five rooms; removes the label, ‘Shankar” from its back, summons the kitchen labelling machine used for ‘Sambar Powder,’ ‘Rasam Powder,’ etc., prints ‘Appa’ instead, and requests his sons to locate the cover. 

“Which one,” asks the younger one from upstairs. “Mine,” he clarifies. “You mean the oversized one you picked from Walmart just because it was on sale?” makes sure, unwittingly. ”Just get me that; forget its antecedents,” he commands, his voice raised.   And here I am, having shifted from physical-, to audio-, to e-books. 

While on my honeymoon with audiobooks he asked me one day: “so, still on fiction-novels or upgraded? Have you listened to any podcasts?”  No, not yet, I said. “They are very interesting. I heard this one last evening.”

It was on Tony Fadell, a BS in Computer Engineering. He worked for Apple and is hailed “the father of IPod”. He left Apple, started his own company, Nest Learning Thermostat – a device that saved electricity consumption. Rather than concentrate on consumers to buy his product, he convinced Power supply companies of its energy-saving feature. They in turn offered financial incentive to consumers who installed Nest Thermostat. The Power companies used the saved energies for wider coverage. Google bought this for a hefty sum, and Tony Fadell joined them… and pursued several interests. As of now, with a net worth of $ 800 million, he is advising 200+ aspirants of start-up companies. 

“Quite interesting,” I said as we stepped inside home. Sunita (d-i-l) heard the last part, and gave her own input. “Appa, I usually check the kind of books celebrities read. I picked two from Bill Gates’ selection, ‘The Choice – Embrace the Possible,’ and ‘Killers of the Flower Moon – the Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI.’ 

The first is a memoir of the lady-author who managed to escape holocaust, and her trials and tribulations before becoming what she is now. The second book, if I got the gist right, is how in yesteryears the less privileged section of the society was rehabilitated in God forsaken lands, and in one instance, in Oklahoma, how it proved a blessing in disguise. Oklahoma is oil-rich. Overnight, as owners, they became filthy rich and began employing whites for domestic help… and how in the end the system manipulated to reinstate status quo ante... 

“Thank God,” I said to myself, “I have not booked my return ticket yet.” It could wait. “Miles to go...,” the line from Robert Frost’s poem that Nehru had kept by his bedside, flashed past my mind. 

Watching A Game I Don't Know

But why…? Because my youngest grandson is in it – as simple as that.

That morning particularly Rohan got ready for school at 6.30 sharp. Any other day one witnesses at this time a near war when the parents take up positions to wake him up. He ran down the stairs putting on his heavily padded gladiator-like American-football uniform. It raised his shoulder level and enhanced his body circumference by three inches. Now this 5’3” frail body looked somewhat fit to challenge the kinds of WWF 6’1s and 6’2s later in the battlefield.

How come Rohan you are wearing the play-uniform now; the game starts at 6 in the evening isn’t it? I asked him, worried if I got the play-time wrong by chance. I too was to watch it. “My coach wants it that way,” he said nonchalantly. 

Admission to this Public (read Government) Higher Secondary school started in January, and Rohan enrolled himself only in May. Thus these 9th graders have very little exposure to the game. And here they are in the arena for the 9th graders’ inter-school state tournament. Each school takes up a specific game to develop at the State and possibly at national level. This school specializes in American football – different from the football the rest of the world knows. They call that soccer.

Those who enroll for the game necessarily practice five days a week, sit together to do the homework in the school itself before being allowed to go home at 6 pm. And if because of their pre-occupation in games they don’t measure up to the academic standards, they are removed from the game-session forthwith. So, it’s play and studies together. No mistakes.

 “Thatha, do you know what this game is all about, and how it is played,” Rohan asked me. “Not exactly, but don’t worry. At the stadium Patti and I will just follow your parents – whenever they applaud, we will do so, and whenever they shout,” Oh my God..,” we will repeat that seconds later, I assured him. “My Dad will brief you on the game during the day,” he said, as he rushed into the car to be dropped.

The 50 odd boys picked up for the three-hour play in four half-hour sessions, were earlier divided into three groups – the best, the next best, and a little less. Rohan was on the top of the second list. It was thus a 50:50 chance. Earlier the coach had called him aside and told him, “Rohan it is highly probable you might be inducted into the main team to play.” It became all the more important for the grandparents, least exposed, to cheer him just in case he makes it. One had to buy entry tickets, regardless. 

The referee blew the whistle; the game started. Our eyes were focused on Rohan, 84, whose number we were intently watching amongst the host of other aspirants waiting on the wings. “No luck in the first quarter,” said my son somewhat disappointed. 

He explained to me the nuances of the game, and I transmitted it to Aunty to the best of my poor ability – I was seated in the middle. As it progressed, he began explaining the intricacies of the game, asking me in between, “you understand? “I understand,” I lied. 

The second quarter started. Again no 84 in sight in the arena. Restlessness marked my son’s face. Luckily by the end of the second quarter the team had established their supremacy over the Tucson team with a wide margin. 

Patti’s prayers seldom go unanswered, Rohan always believed. His coach called out Rohan to the ground in the third quarter. And he played with gusto for a while before someone else was given the chance. In the fourth quarter too he was called, and this time for a little longer. He did his best here too.

On our drive back home my son patted Rohan, ‘good take off Rohan’.  ‘Count your blessings, don’t get worried not being in the 1st and 2nd quarters.’ pacified his mother. “We enjoyed watching the game,’ said grandma. And, before I could formulate my words into a sentence, my son took an unscheduled left turn. Yes, he spotted ‘Dairy Queen Drive-in Ice Cream” shop. “Let’s celebrate the occasion with ice cream,” he proposed. “Sure,” I seconded. Ek ne kahi, duje ne maani, Nanak kahen dono gyani.