With two school-going kids, we have some screen-time rules in place in our house. But like most parents, we struggle to enforce them.
Kids find creative ways to trick you into handing over your device to them ‘just for a minute’. That minute often turns into an hour—before you realise what hit you.
***
Last week, after a breakfast with fellow hassled parents, my wife came home with a spark in her eyes:
“Let’s get a landline.”
The logic? A wired telephone could take care of some of the so-called serious use-cases—like discussing a group project or calling an unwell friend—without needing a screen.
***
Back when I was a kid, we never had such noble uses for a telephone.
We got our prized connection in the late ’80s. Before we could relish that neighbours’ envy and owner’s pride feeling, our telephone became a neighbourhood utility. That five-digit number, it felt, was owned less by us and by the neighbours.
Being the youngest, I became that ‘Chhotu’ dispatched to fetch the neighbours every time a call came in. Given how important phone calls were back then, I took pride in the task.
That unpaid side hustle taught me the art of finding meaning in the mundane.
I doubt if we ever did the math, but we might have spent more entertaining the neighbours visiting our house to attend their calls than on our monthly telephone bill.
One particular Rinku bhaiya, Sharma uncle’s son working in a big city, would call every week and insist on holding the line while I fetched his father. Given how expensive calls were, I’d run like my life depended on it. Sharma uncle would trail behind—panting, swearing, and clutching his lungi as if it might fly off.
Two years later, I won the 400m race in boarding school. I thanked Rinku bhaiya.
Running is still a habit.
***
Boarding school exposed me to the other side of the telephone.
With limited pocket money, I’d queue at the only campus phone booth—nearly 1000 students, one phone. To save money, we’d call after 8 pm. Wait time? 30–45 minutes. And to connect on the first attempt, you had to be either lucky or a genius.
The booth operator—calm and kind—would gently take the receiver if he saw you struggle. His fingers moved like a magician’s on the key pad. And the call would connect. In that moment, you could have nominated him for a Nobel and no one in the long queue would protest.
The energy shifted once the call connected.
Within 16 seconds (one call unit), you’d rush through two weeks of life updates to Dad, squeeze in pleasantries, and make sure Mom “heard your voice”—all while staring at that red blinking meter to make sure you don’t end up paying for an extra unit.
No better teacher of brevity, focus, and prioritisation has ever existed.
***
So yes, the landline idea sounds tempting.
But it also makes me wonder:
By keeping our kids away from screens, are we denying them the very lessons we once stumbled upon—lessons that only make sense decades later?
#Parenting #Nostalgia #LifeLessons