I was originally going to write this blog for Floh, and I’ve been thinking about it/mulling over it for a while. And suddenly, I’ve woken up in the middle of the night to churn it out here for all you loyal readers.
I think I’ve enjoyed good conversations with boys ever since I was a teenager. In fact, in my late teens and early twenties, my ‘boy friends’ often dubbed me as ‘one of the dudes’. I could talk to them about movies, computers, technology, ‘girls’, travelling, everything under the sun, except cricket (I just can’t wrap my head around it despite several attempts).
I remember the day I acquired a cellphone. It was 2001, an evening in November, the 21st, to be precise, 4 days before my 13th birthday (?). I was not new to cellphones, I just hadn’t had my own before. That fateful night, without having activated the ‘9 to 9 scheme (Indian millennials know what I’m referring to)’, I had spent 6 hours of the night on the phone. Of course, the bill that ensued at the end of the month, ensured my postpaid connection be cut off for years to come, allowing me a reasonably allocated prepaid account.
If one thing hasn’t changed since I was 13, it’s the fact that I. Love. Talking. On The Phone.