I started my tryst with the cellphone at school, when Moothamma (masi) gifted Mom her old cell to use during hospitalization after a hysterectomy. She didn't really use it then, but Mom realized that I'd really taken to the cell. It was a humble blue 2100, quite one of the high end ones in those days. So the cell became mine. And I was officially the youngest owner of a cellphone at school. No-one had my cell number as no-one had a cell to store it in, but I carried it around with me everywhere, feeling all grown-up and busy. Those were not the days when every school kid struts about with an N-70 like now-a-days.
A little more than a year later, when I was fed up of playing Space Impact and Snake II, Pop gifted me my then dream-cellphone. A Nokia 6610i. Don't laugh. By that time cellphone mania had pretty much caught up in colleges and a 2100 was so NOT it. Snort. The rest, as they say (though I'm not sure who "they" are), is History.
I can't imagine a single day without my faithful 6610i. It has been with me through thick and thin, been through the thick and thin spaces I try to stick it into, fallen ten score times, proferred its tender 2-inch display for me to crack, weathered its buttons painfully as I texted away, withstood the onslaught of deadly viruses and back-door worms from my GPRS connection with no more than a sputter and to this day braves my unwieldy maneuvers as I game away on the 40-odd .jar games it can store for me at a time.
I love my cell and am not about to swap it for another in a hurry. (Huh what did you say? N-95? Bring it on! Hehe!)
No comments:
Post a Comment