The ring that sings

NEELKANTAN B takes a dig at people who have a penchant for cellular phones with polyphonic ringtones


Until a few years back, I would have lost had I played antakshari or anything to do with Hindi film music. Nowadays, I give myself a decent chance to win.

I have even decided on my victory speech. “I would like to thank cellular operators and handset manufacturers for their remarkable handsets. I would also like to give a special thanks to the man who invented polyphonic ringtones.”

My old phone had a ringtone (it only had a ring, in fact) which could curdle my blood. Then as technology improved, the sounds became progressively smoother and more easier on the ears.

Mobile phone technology, for some reason, has decided to go the other way round. The other day I was sitting in a bus (I do that everyday), and there was this gentleman who decided to play with his new toy (presumably, because there was no one who was SMSing or calling him). Here’s what I heard (not in chronological order).

The first one sounded like my old phone, but this one was digital, so presumably the rough edges were smoothed out. Then was a bird, a frog and various other animal sounds.

Then there was ‘De de pyaar de.’

After a flurry of unrecognizable tunes, there was also ‘Chookar mere mann ko.’

While my forty winks were getting disturbed due to the polyphonic chayageet, elsewhere in the bus there was a big din of a hundred drums and a conch combined in one polyphonic ringtone. One window cracked. Someone said hello at a volume which wouldn’t need a telephone to hear it in the radius of 1 kilometre.

The bus driver in the meantime was scattering all inhabitants of the road like a combine harvester while banging the horn vigorously. For a moment, I was unable to decide if honks are worse than ringtones or vice versa. But this analysis was cut short by the din of a hundred drums, a conch, a trumpet and a war cry which made up another ringtone. One more hello and yet another window sacrificed itself to the cause of polyphonic ringtones.

The receiver of the tone, oops, phone continued to shout at the top of his voice. Confusion prevailed around the huge quantity of sound and speech trying to squeeze into the small inlet of the cellphone. Thinking his voice was not audible, the war cry man spoke at a still higher volume.

Around this time, he discovered that he was able to hear the caller’s voice twice and tried shouting without the phone. The reply seemed to come from the front rows of the bus. It was all quiet on that front once the two tone owners met. Happy in their reunion, I looked to continue on my now forgotten sleep.

Why is it that people speak so loudly on their cellphones is something that I have never been able to fathom. Conversations which would have been perfectly private are now in the open. In theatres, buses and sometimes, restrooms there are people on the phone and yelling loudly at that.

There was a voice near me. I thought this was a chance to air my views to the person sitting next to me, but then I discovered he was talking to himself. The cord hanging from his ear downwards soon cleared the mystery of the handsfree option. “Look ma, no hands.”

The battle cry and mayhem which had so far drowned the ringtone checker, now bought him back to focus.

He was now listening to ‘Mere Naseeb’. Unable to decide if ‘Mere Naseeb’ was good or if ‘Kaanta Laga’ was good, he played the same around 18 times. At the end of this, he asked for a show of hands in the bus in favour of ‘Kaanta Laga’ or ‘Mere Naseeb’ and he thanked all of us profusely for letting him make such an important decision in his life. We, in turn, thanked him for letting us decide such an important thing in his life and for giving our ears a new lease of life.

Day in and day out, I get treated to polyphonic ring tones so much that I think I must put in my entry for the Corporate antakshari. Only my competition would have got sharper.