How the remote got its name

First there were lights and fans and swtiches to operate them.  Then came the television into our lives and still, there were switches.  Rooms were small enough for us to simply stretch and switch the blessed thing off when Aamchi mati, aamchi mansa came on after Chhaya Geet and switch it on again when Aapan yanha pahilat ka came on, since patti had a vicarious pleasure in matching the old man and the old woman, both of whom had been  missing for a week now.  She always suspected that they had run away together and she voiced her opinion in no uncertain terms addressing the old man directly, telling him that his `thiruttu muzhi’ gave him away.  But that is another post.

  Then daddy came with a contraption that had to be used to switch the television on or off.  By the time someone groped for the remote (for it was termed such), another stretched and did what had to be done.  Why we groped for it, you may ask.   Television was always viewed with the lights switched off.  All the naysayers said that the rays would affect the eyes and so it must be watched only in a darkened room, surrounded by neighbours of course.  So, if one had to get up to answer nature’s call or another needy neighbour’s call, he had to stumble over knobbly knees and hold their heads for support to reach the other side.  Then someone said that only one dim light could be switched on but it had to directly in the path of the rays emitting from the television.  Then yet another one saw the light and made everyone see it too. How?  By switching it on, that’s how, of course.

The remote was placed within reach on the centre table and now with the lights to guide us, the start stop button could be accessed.  The young ones were not allowed to handle it in any case.  The elder ones held it gingerly and respectfully and used it only judiciously, for they were told that using it often would affect the picture tube.  There was only one screen that was supposed to show images in black and white but usually it diffused a grainy grey that made the stern looking newsreader with her bun look like she had a bad case of dermatitis compounded with a twitching of the optic nerve, for, there was always a slight tic in that vicinity on the screen.  So apart from eye lids twitching, stationary objects would wobble and straighten up again and crisscross lines would appear often like some unseen hand was scribbling unchecked on the sands of grey in front of the disappointed crowd.  By the time it got set right, there would be births and deaths that would have transpired and been missed and these events would be correctly guessed and   announced by the lone movie goer in the crowd with such accuracy as to put the BMC to shame.  The technician would be called in for a check-up only in the most severe cases or if a knock in some strategic spot did not work.  Usually, he simply switched it off and then, on again, with deft flicks of the remote which won everyone’s undying gratitude.  `Thank God, we can see at least the Sunday movie properly’ was the general consensus.  Those people passed away but the remote lived on to tell the tale.  It was taken such good care of, you see.

Now, it was used to change channels.  People surfed only when the waves of technology came up to such a level that they had to ride it and still maintain their balance.  The jaunty surfers did not look askance or worry about births and deaths that they might have missed while surfing.  The movie goer did not prompt anyone.  No one cared enough to ask him either.   The surfer was happy enough to travel through cricket pitches, halls where quiz shows were conducted and blundered his way through people’s bed rooms, flicking his wrists and fingers with abandon,   as if playing on some instrument.   Many, however,   fell by the way side.  Still many used pink slips to jot down the various numbers that they had to use for different channels.  And   some even painstakingly drew diagrams of the remotes themselves to refer to as and when they needed them.  Remotes became longer and the buttons on them increased in number.  They had to be differentiated by colours and guides were needed to use them.  Those who wielded them mastered their use and always kept them by their side to use them with untiring frequency.  No closure or endings of anything for them, thank you.

  Patti now knew why that thing was called a remote.  It seemed so unreachable and far away now with all its complications.  Televisions themselves became smaller and then soon became bigger and bigger as if no one could quite make up their mind as to what the exact size should be.  She chuckled happily though.  It suited her cataract filled eyes fine.  People in them looked happier too and not so grey.  They wore gaudily coloured clothes as if to make up for all the time they had lost wearing black and white and grey.   But no one was fully content, it seems.  Her great grandson crawled up to the television and touched its screen and waited with anticipation and howled when nothing happened.  His father and her son had a small screened flat thing on his lap and touched it often to change something.  When did the remote fall from its throne? Oh yes, she noticed everything but commented little these days.  She envied the old man and old woman who had eloped so many summers ago.