Soulful Connections

It was soon after the 2004 Tsunami, when I landed in Chennai to try my luck, in the most determined way, to flourish as a writer. It was a time when mobile phone was a far-fetched luxury still and was not yet qualified in the necessity category in India. So the local PCO/STD booths made lots of money and they could be spotted in almost every corner of the street.

I used to have this small telephone diary, gifted by my father. The list kept increasing as I started skimming through the Yellow Pages Directory for possible leads. I used to go to a particular telephone booth run by an elderly man. Our first interaction was interesting too. Way back then, I did manage speaking in Tamil, though not fluently unlike today, but he was pretty smart to guess I was not from the South. I said I was from Kerala. With a shine in his eyes, he shot the next obvious question, where in Kerala. He hailed from a place that was just 30 minutes away from my maternal home. He was very helpful and caring all the time. I had given the PCO number for reference where the agencies used the popularly unfriendly phrase ‘Leave your number, we will get back to you.’ While nobody really called back, he would insist that I keep trying, at least I follow up with a call to know if there is hope or full-stop. Mostly it was the latter and I would just smile because we knew I will make it someday.

When I got a job, with my desired role, uncle was among the select few I shared the news with a box of sweets. When I got my first salary, I had bought my first mobile phone and my visits to his shop became numbered. Nevertheless, would go to check on him as long as I stayed in that locality. His business was not doing well because of the advent of the mobile phones companies so he did convert it into a juice corner keeping the PCO going as long as he could.
Even though I left the locality, I had his number so I would call him during all festive occasions to wish him but then somewhere down the journey, this connect got disconnected when it said ‘ the number you are calling does not exist’.

After many years I happened to pass by that area, and the cloud of nostalgia encircled me. Everything in that street had changed, , I recalled uncle’s shop’s location, but then, I could not find it. I stopped the vehicle and inquired around. Nobody knew such a person. I gave up hope until I went to a textile shop, where the owner welcomed me with a smile. I hardly knew him. He then broke my suspense bubble and happened to be the boy who worked in uncle’s shop for some time. I asked about uncle and I came to know that he had moved back to Kerala selling his shop. He did have some contact number. I dialed the number. It was ringing but no response. I resumed my journey.

Weeks went by, I received a call. The‘Hello’ struck a magical re-connect, I was laughing with joy. He was the same soulful well-wisher.