After about
ten helpless minutes of flirting with a horrifying IVR, pressing a fearfully
long sequence of single-digit menu options, and listening to a much outdated
sax item by Kenny G, I was redirected to this guy who was perhaps the last
human on earth excluding me.
His crisp,
business-like voice ejaculated a well-rehearsed sequence of words. “Welcome to
Dead-Cell Mobile customer care; this is Ozhamander assuring you a quick
resolution; how may I help you?”
Ozhamander?
His name took a moment to sink in. Ozhamander? Really? Hmmm... Must be an ogre.
“Yeah,
hello, Ozhamander. I'm Pradeep. My prepaid number is--”
“Prepaid
number, sir?” He interrupted rudely. “Are you calling about your SMS failures?”
Did he read
my mind? He is certainly an ogre!
“Yes. None
of my messages are going through. In fact, I keep getting these rejection
errors which claim that my text network settings are illegal. A bit concerned,
because all was well until 10 am today, and I've not changed any settings since
I configured my phone about three years ago. Do you think you can help me?”
“May I put
you on hold for a minute, while I check your usage history, sir?”
“If that
helps. Don't you want my number?”
“Isn't that
the same number you are calling from, sir?”
“Yeah. Go
ahead. But please don't play that horrible track into my sensitive ears.”
There was
an awkward silence for about a minute.
“Thank you
for being on hold, sir. There is no need for concern. Everything seems to be n
order.”
“Eh!? Good
to know. Why, then, are my messages not being delivered?”
“Sir, your
number is double-nine, six-five...four.”
“Yes,
correct.”
“You topped
up your prepaid balance with five-hundred bucks last night.”
“I had to.
I have the confirmation message to that effect with the transaction ID.”
“I'm sure
you do, sir. I have it, too. The point is: your usage history shows that you
have exhausted your SMS quota, sir.”
“Quota?
What quota?”
“Sir, you
have already sent five messages since 6 am today; the last one was at 10 am.”
“I might
have. Didn't keep count. But--”
“If you
like, sir, I could give you the numbers to which you sent messages.”
“I know
whom I messaged. But what does that--”
“Sir, I
could even tell you the contents of each message if you need further
confirmation.”
Goodness
gracious! Talk about consumer privacy!
“Look here!
That will not be necessary. I know whom I messaged, and I know what I messaged
them. Just tell me why I'm not being allowed to continue messaging.”
“Sure, sir.
That's because you have exhausted your quota of five outgoing SMS per day.”
“Quota?
What are you talking about, Ozhamander?”
“Sir, I
understand you haven't had time to read the newspapers this morning.”
“No. But,
so what? Since when did reading the newspaper become a prerequisite to being
allowed to send SMS?”
This was
getting really awkward. And weird.
“Sir, the
Department of Telecommunications has imposed a restriction on the number of
text messages that may be sent per day. The upper limit is five. You would have
known about this if you had read the papers. You have exhausted your quota,
sir.”
I was
shocked. Such drastic measures could mean only one thing, assuming a rational
decency of the perpetrators.
“What the
heck is going on, man? Are we at war?”
I switched
on the telly and punched my remote to TBNN. The Breaking News Network -- call
it The Baansi News Network if you will -- has been flashing the same tickers at
our face since a few years.
The raging
discussion today was about female infanticide. Gurkha Butt was all over it. But
that couldn't be it.
“Isn't this
something quite like that, sir?”
“Eh?”
Are we at
war? I checked the ticker, but all I got was a load of regular rubbish that had
been on since last year.
“Sir, the
recent riots... It pays to read the newspaper.”
Man! This
guy was pushing his luck too far. If only he knew I write, how I write, and
that I would soon write about him...
“I know
about the riots!”
“Oh? Then
you'll probably also be aware of the after-effects in other States.”
“I know
about the rumours. What I fail to understand though, is--”
“The Home
Ministry, sir. They have decided to limit the number of SMS in favor of
National security, sir.”
“But my
friends are able to send me SMS.”
“Sir, the
limitation is currently applicable to prepaid numbers only.”
“Oh? What's
the point, then?”
“Sorry sir,
but that question is outside the scope of my script. Is there anything else I
can do for you, sir?”
Not really!
I cannot expect you to think beyond your lousy script. There is no way you
could help me.
But I said,
“Yes! You could erase my usage history, so I can message my friends.”
“Sir!
Surely, you are joking?”
“You think
so?”
Bloody
idiot!
I dropped
the recorded call only to realize that I had been charged six bucks for
communicating across a so-called toll-free number.
So, this is
how the Home Ministry hopes to contain rumours. So, this is the disgustingly
ridiculous state our DoT has come to.
I wish to
give them some ideas that will help them stretch their imagination:
The best
way to stop rumours is to ensure that nobody communicates with anybody. Just
ban the use of cellphones, TV, radio, newspaper. Ensure that people do not talk
to each other by imposing some derivative of POTA on any law-abiding,
tax-paying citizen found engaged in mundane conversation with a fellow human
being.
Finally,
order a shoot-at-sight against anybody who opens his mouth to say even as much
as 'I wanna go to the loo.'
In the name
of National security, just say, “Shut up, common man!”
