The Triumph of technology

‘She who must be obeyed’ simply hates technology. Anything to do with hi tech, or circuits or diagrams anything more complicated than a hammer and an anvil, she looks at with great suspicion.

‘Works of the devil!’ she hisses and makes a sign of the cross. ‘A vile abhorrence! ‘ . Then she eats garlic and breathes all over me.

That’s why she hates it when I am surrounded by technology. Here I am, carrying a bag which is filled with technology and gets me into trouble at all the security checks in airports around the world – cameras, laptop, speaker, tablet, keyboard, ipod and a charger for each one! Ugh!

She looks at me with disapproval even when I take out my phone and check Facebook.

‘Why are you always looking at that accursed phone?’ she asks. ‘It is against nature to use the phone for anything other than talking.’ For her the heights of mobile technology is to use SMS.

‘But this is a smartphone!’ I protested. ‘It can be used like a mini computer – it’s got internet, mail, phone, GPS...’

‘GPS...hah’ she snapped. ‘A GPL is what you deserve. Chalo...at least something about you should be smart.’

For her the only acceptable use of technology is to book tickets and do travel research. She spends her entire lifetime peering at various sites and comparing fares and attractions and using Google maps to memorise the routes of all cities in the world. For that too, she prefers an old desktop PC rather than a laptop or a tablet. She is the only person in the world who actually asked for a desktop PC in office, and keeps her office laptop unused at home.

Probably she would be most comfortable with the original IBM ‘Deep thought’ and swapping notes with Ada Lovelace and Charles Babbage.  She still mourns for the loss of the old days of punchcards and teletypes. Even Fax is a modern innovation which she is yet to get comfortable with.

The Defence Attorney says : My Lord,   for someone whose wife has to give him a bunch of air + train + bus + hotel +entrance ticket online reservations before every trip,   Signor talks too much,  I say.

‘Why are you trying to imitate a snail and carry your whole house of high tech with you anyway?’ She asked.

‘Arre, I had been to that Photography competition re, so I carried two cameras and a laptop to edit the photos on.’ I replied ‘And I came directly from there, so I had to cart the laptop along.’

‘Hah! Using laptop to edit photos is cheating. Bloody Charlatan! This digital photography is a disgrace. In my day, we used real film. I even used to make my own film with silver nitrate and toilet paper. I made my own camera too, from a cardboard box and a pin. I used to develop my own film in the toilet, where I filled the toilet bowl with developer. I used to multitask – crapping and developing...or rather, developing and then crapping.  In our house, everyone used to wear only lungis, so I used them to make a tent to dry the photos in.  That’s the real way to do photography re...Not this pansy digital SLRs and whatnot...’ She growled at me.

And having vented her spleen, she flounced away, leaving me to run after her, weighed down by technology.

Once in New Zealand, she nearly divorced me, because I tried to use Google maps on my phone. We had hired a car, as we sat down and strapped up, I pulled out my phone and handed it to her. She took one look and exploded like a volcano.

‘What is this nonsense? How dare you insult my hard work?’

‘Eh? What? Where? When?’  I was nonplussed. ‘What did I do now?’

She took out a sheaf of printouts and waved it at me. ‘I have studied Google maps and memorised the entire route, and have taken printouts  of the entire route!’

‘But it’s the same Google maps...and this moving dot shows where are...’ I whined.

‘SHUT UP! And put that sinful thing away, you foul reprobate!’ She growled at me, and I shrivelled like a snail who has had salt sprinkled on it.

We drove on, and I glanced at the GPS. ‘Hey...we are going the wrong way.’ I said hesitantly. ‘See the blue dot?’

‘#$!$%$@%&* you and your blue dot! You are a blue dolt! Keep shut and keep driving!’ She shouted at me. ‘See the road sign?’ she pointed dramatically, and then suddenly said ‘Oh!’ . After a few minutes, she said ‘WE ARE GOING THE WRONG WAY! YOU FOOL! WE ARE GOING THE WRONG WAY!!!! OOOOOOOOOOOOO....WE WILL GET LOST......AAAAAAAAAAA......WE WILL  RUN OUT OF FUEL.......OOOOOOOOOOO......WE WILL STARVE IN THE WILDERNESS AND DIE........AAAAAAAAAA.....WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO MY CHILD WITHOUT ME......OOOOOOOOOOOOO’

‘Here....relax...’ I said ‘We have just come a few kilometres. I will turn the car around.’

‘AAAAAARGGHHHHHHH...BE CAREFUL WHILE TURNING......THERE IS A CAR COMING 3 KILOMETERS AWAYYYYYYYY.....HE WILL CRASH INTO US.......WE WILL DIE........ARRRRR....oh we have turned. Go straight now.’

‘I told you we were going the wrong way.’ I said. ‘I saw on the GPS.’

That was the worst thing I could have said. A wife will tolerate any amount of marital abuse, but she simply cannot tolerate the spouse being right about anything. It goes against all the principles of marriage.

‘IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!’ she screamed at me. ‘Distracting me with that garbage. Its written in my notes to take a right, but you took a left.’

‘But ....but....you told me to take a left.’ I whined

‘Thats your fault! I meant a right! You should understand me by now.’ She said and refused to talk to me for the rest of the day.

The Defence Attorney says : My Lord, what this fat !@#$%^& doesn’t mention is that the internet coverage died once we were in the mountains,   the GPS screen was as blank as the sleepy blue ocean where they are searching for MH370 wreckage,  and it was my antediluvian  map printouts  (made on Egyptian hieroglyphic parchment)   which saved the day.

So with this background, I carefully did not show her the Maps on my phone in Spain. I used the phone for everything – Facebook, Mail, reading books etc, so she wouldn’t realise that I was covertly seeing our position on maps while we were walking.

In Seville though, the breakthrough happened.

We emerged at a junction, and she stopped and looked doubtfully around. She looked like a tiny version of Gandalf the Grey, when he was lost in the mines of Moria. ‘I have no memory of this place at all’ Gandalf had said; and she said almost the same thing. Well, actually she said ‘#$$%#$^@@$%@$%^^#^^’ ; but the sentiment was the same. She was wearing her antediluvian grey jacket with hood, so the illusion with Mini-Gandalf was complete.

I crawled after her, like Gollum, holding my phone and hissing ‘my preciousssssss’

Then the unthinkable happened.

She turned to me and said in a small voice ‘Can you open Google maps and find out the way to our hotel? I seem to have lost my bearings.’

I looked at her in disbelief.

I could just imagine Sergei Brin and Larry Page breaking into  a Bhangra in exultation, and Eric Schmidt banging on the dholak with one hand and playing the tumba with the other hand.

‘OYE BALLE BALLE!’ the cry resounded over the Googleplex in Mountain View, CA and firecrackers and coloured streamers exploded over all the Google offices all across the world. A national holiday was declared in 53 countries and a parade was launched in the remaining ones. Mardi Gras was cancelled in favour of this celebration, and 21 gun salutes roared out from all the ships at sea.

Defence Attorney :   !@#$%^&*(

Technology had finally triumphed! The Final frontier had been overcome!