Look who I met, Today!

My father and I share a deep love for books. His favourite pastime at railway stations (and later at airports) was buying them. My mother, though not an avid reader herself, never discouraged us from reading. However, she often felt frustrated—not because she disliked books, but because she was the one packing and moving them every time we relocated.

During one such move from Bangalore to Visakhapatnam, she finally declared that she would throw away all the books since she couldn’t manage the packing anymore. Reluctantly, my father and I decided to donate them to a public library. I visited three or four libraries, but none were willing to take them due to space constraints. Heartbroken, we had no choice but to sell 90 kg of books to a paper mart by weight. That was the heaviest weight I’ve ever lost—one I never wanted to lose.

As a child, I always carried a book with me—sometimes even into the bathroom. I made friends at doctor’s clinics, while waiting for public transport, and on buses, all because of the books I read. I would strike up conversations about what I was reading or ask others about their books. My mother, however, wasn’t too pleased. She believed that one should stay aware of their surroundings instead of getting lost in a book. Yet, she never stopped me from talking to strangers—she just wanted me to be safe. Now, as a mother myself, I understand her concern.

Over time, as smartphones took over our lives, even book lovers like me found themselves glued to screens more often than flipping through pages. Some might still be reading, but for most, the screen is a gateway to endless distractions. I, too, am guilty of this.

I remember how, as a child, I would sometimes peek over at newspapers or books others were reading in public, and no one seemed to mind. Maybe it was because I was a little girl, or perhaps because people valued a reader. But today, that quiet curiosity is no longer possible. We can’t tell if someone is immersed in a great novel or just scrolling aimlessly—because glancing at another’s phone is seen as intrusive. The shared experience of reading in public has faded, replaced by isolated screens.

Fast forward to a few days ago—I went to a nearby eatery to buy some snacks. For once, I didn’t have my phone or a book, and my kids weren’t with me either. It was just me. While waiting for my order, I found myself observing people, counting vehicles passing by, trying to lip-read conversations, and mentally calculating the change that should be returned  every time an order is placed by a new customer (though most people now use digital payments).

As I sat down, an elderly man in his late 60s started a conversation. He turned out to be the managing proprietor of SukhSagar, a well-known eatery in Jayanagar. Having handed over the business to the next generation, he now enjoyed casual conversations with customers. We talked about his ventures, how food quality has changed with Swiggy and Zomato, and why some restaurants fail despite serving great food. By the time his pav bhaji arrived, I realized how much I knew about food and eateries—despite never considering myself a foodie. Talking about food felt like reconnecting with a part of myself I hadn’t met in years.

That night, as I reflected on the conversation, a thought struck me—our phones have taken over our lives so much that we don’t even know what to do without them. Are we scared to be with ourselves, I wonder. My husband makes it a point not to use his phone when he’s with our children. I try to do the same (most of the time), but I still sneak a glance now and then.

I’ve now started consciously reducing my screen time. Instead of mindless scrolling, I’ve found a small way to stay engaged—I use an app to plant trees and watch them grow with flowers and fruits. It motivates me to use my phone less.

How about you?