Remote Access

It is a revelation of some sort. Even while executing the most mundane tasks that we do, the process of thinking lingers behind the background. Else we would have achieved nirvana with ease.
It struck me like a lightning suddenly while I was surfing the channels on my television set. I wasn’t sure of what struck me as I continued to surf. I was threading through the sequence of lucid thoughts when I realized that it was about the channel surfing!! It is ritualistic procedure to surf channels, which is occasionally hampered by low battery. Else the freedom of choice lies just in front of ones eyes; a choice that is just a click away and that which can be exercised anywhere within range, at any reclined position, or even reflected at appropriate angle.

But this time, suddenly I was tempted to follow the flow of thoughts while I actually surfed. Firstly the Nomadic Surfing; there is this uncertainty about what one wants to be entertained with. From among cartoons to actions cuts to scantly clad fashion porn, one don’t know what the mood of the moment is. Hence one surfs to stumble upon something wroth viewing as dictated by the moment. I do recollect having surfed across the hundred available channels over and over again, with occasional sojourn in quest of solace. This is the commonest of all cases. This gypsy freedom is so alluring that we stick to surfing over some other program of choice.

The second one, I call the Pop Corn Surfing. As one might have guessed, it happens during the commercial brakes. While one is bewitched by some twenty minute programmed protracted into an hour long episode, nothing can be more irritating than the equally long commercial brake. The feeble human mind tends to believe that it can locate some other small program elsewhere within the commercial break’s span. On the contrary, one would manage to find only commercials in every other channel as well. Yet unlike the nomadic surfing, this is definitive and time bound but usually unproductive.

The third is the Hybrid surfing. This surfing needs some planning and strategy in order to be executed successfully. While one indulges in the Pop corn surfing, one might stumble across another program worthy of watching. More often than not, this is the source of hybrid surfing, which is about managing to watch two or more programs simultaneously. The ideal example would be watching 2 movies on some special occasions, both of which will be stretched by over 75% one can manage to watch both of them simultaneously by planning it properly. This is preferred surfing technique and pretty productive too. The effectiveness depends on the planning done.

The fourth is the Stealth Surfing. The target customers are the teens. You guessed it right. It is all about reflex action. The possibility of this kind of surfing depends on the orientation of the TV with respect to the intruder. This surfing is also seasonal, I mean heightened on Saturday nights and also channel specific. Unlike the other types of surfing, this is a situational and forced surfing where in the viewer is actually reluctant to surf. Yet to mask or justify the sudden absence of screen display, then viewer might jump to 2 or more channels till the intrusion ceases.

The fifth one is called the Anticipation surfing. This occurs while surfer is interested only in the small portion of the program viewed. Say for example a cricket match highlights. While watching the highlights, the viewer might switch to otherwise Pop corn surfing and might want to come back to the highlights in order to get the glimpse of the fall of wicket or a six. Unlike Pop corn surfing, anticipatory surfing requires the program to have been viewed once already. This kind of surfing overrides the lesson of experience that it is virtually impossible to jump back to the previous channel at the right time. Sometimes during the course of surfing, the anticipated moment might be completely forgotten.

The sixth one is called the Curious surfing. This surfing is frequent between a selected set of channels. For example, the surfing among the news channels on the wake of flash news. The surfing is furious and engrossing but limited to few set of channels showing the same footages over and over again. But the viewer is hopeful of spotting something extra to satiate his curiosity. But this surfing is not all together futile, one might get an information may be a few seconds in advance. Unlike the other surfing methods, which are used as time pass, this one about the useful utilization of time. Hence the viewers tend to club a few channels together based on linguistic or program specific basis.

The seventh one is called the Blurred Surfing. This happens when only the reception is not proper. That is, the viewer tries to locate some channel that is received or displayed properly. Unlike the other surfing techniques, this one arises due to a loss of choice and is forced. The occurrence of his surfing is pretty rare.

After having discussed all this, now I appreciate the wonder called Remote. The very design of the channel swap, jump, and quick access buttons. It is an aesthetically designed engineering marvel aimed to please me. So I shall go back to use it. But the next time I surf, I am not sure if I will forget these categories or if I am going to classify them everytime I surf. Pobably i need t owait and see.

Dial 100.

I had lost my mobile, ironically, inside the secure ATM premises, where you can expect only those people having a bank account (which means money) to frequent. My mobile was a prototype. Almost an antique I should say. The only yet sufficient feature on it was that I could use it for making calls. I had never realized that it was good enough to be stolen! Yet somebody took it. As a concerned citizen I should report the loss to the police to avoid possible misuse of the SIM and hence I went to the police station to file F.I.R.
To reach the police station I had to cross dark desolated stretches, ideal location to mug somebody. May be they choose this location not without alternate intention. And as a practice, I had dragged my buddy Ram along. I approached a sole constable guarding the gate and tried to explain things in Kannada. His questions then were in Tamil. How did he find out? Probably because he is a police man, said I to self. After listening to the story he asked me to wait. Meanwhile my Ram was talking over his mobile.
The entire place appeared to be a makeshift station, which Ram confirmed later. It had a rickety table on the outside, with lots of objects placed inside carry bags. The constable seemed to be guarding them. On the inside were a typist and a few normal middle aged men with protruding corpus belly. But I tell you, in this belly issue, no body in the world can match TN police. The walls were white unlike the usual brick red. Almost near the entrance was a board with the picture of rouges pasted to it. To my dismay I found my almost identical twin there. While I was musing over how this place failed to qualify as a police station under conservative Indian movie norms, a sub inspector accosted me and asked me why I was here. “I lost my mobile” said I. “Did her take it” asked he pointing to Ram. Ram got stunned as he saw the SI pointing at him. He halted his conversation over the phone abruptly and rushed closer. ‘Look at me. I am petrified with fear’ was written all over his face. “He is a friend of mine” said I. We both were asked to wait for a little while longer, in the most arrogant, churlish and indifferent manner humanly possible. The entire place reeked a stale odor. I wished to presume it as gun powder for the obsolete model of rifle they held. 1847 I may presume.
The mirth, remiss and indifference suddenly vanished as the inspector came along. Behind him were two girls. “Case” I whispered into Ram’s ears. “May be they are here for complaining” said he. That can’t be. I am Sherlock Holmes in mufti. I could read things off the girls faces and the way the constables looked at them. They were looked down upon and were looked ‘into’ simultaneously. After 5 minutes we heard some noise. The ‘Some noise’, which we used to associate our chief warden with. Yes. A really tight slap. “Did you hear that?” I asked Ram. “ye…yes.ss” said Ram, helplessly griped by fear and aphasia. Yet he was pretending to be normal, which by itself was abnormal. I feared he would faint as we saw the 2 girls being brought outside and were whipped with canes.
Now Ram’s mind switched to pessimistic mode. “They are beating girls with canes!! What if they beat us too, for loosing the cell at the first place? My family had never been to a police station” asked Ram, while the chill on his spine had made him numb to all his senses. After the last slap in the series, the girls were ordered to run, and so they ran into the dark freedom. “We should have gotten their numbers” said I to Ram is a vain attempt to create levity. But his senses weren’t working, he was pondering over all possible means that could get us slapped too. He felt like a castaway traveler trying to make friends with cannibals.
My attempt to ease his tension was cut short as the whole police pack gathered outside its den, obeying the drill orders from its localized supremo. A 20 min drill at 930 at night. It was so wired and grasping that I failed to realize that we were there for 40 minutes now. Post the drill session was the inspector’s harangue. Good that it was in Kannada. Had Ram been able to make out what was said, he might have had a cardiac arrest.
After the routine ceremony ended, I let them remember my existence. They took me inside. I was hoping that I wasn’t taken to that dark room with a single 40 watts bulb flashing heat onto the culprits head. Well I wasn’t. Once I a table, I narrated the story for the nth time. And I tried to write down the complaint. Repri course at bits failed me then. What was the format? What is the tense to be used? I was tensed. But some how managed to limn a lot. Having read till point, you would have figured out how much I would have written about nothing. They then asked me to get a photocopy. It is 1030 dude, where would I find a ‘xerox’ store open? I did manage to, after trotting a kilometer and a half. Ram opted to stay behind under the safe promises of the store; safer than a police station? Ironically he chose to. I submitted the letter to them. They didn’t care to read it. They stamped a seal onto it n gave it back. “Are the formalities complete?” I asked. The expressionless face affixed to the huge head swayed a bit. Did he say it is over, or did he say it isn’t? My curios face received blank reply or probably no reply at all. I stepped few steps backwards, hoping that he would stop me if it wasn’t over. But he didn’t. it was time to flee. I thanked the gate keeper, I mean the constable who didn’t mind listening to me. I fled the scene. It was all obvious by the way my complaint was handled. I am not going to get my cell back. But at least the formality was done.

Nizhal

Avalai yen nizhal yendru sonnal athu migaiyAgAthu,
nAn oli nOkungkAl pin nindral, yennai irul sUlnthathum kan marainthAl