Booking gas cylinder in digital India

In order to book a gas cylinder in the old days, you simply called the agency and spoke to a real person.

In order to book a gas cylinder in the old days, you simply called the agency and spoke to a real person. Then came “modernity” and you had to interact with a machine that pretended to be a person, by using a recorded voice that told you to punch this or that number. I found the process irritating enough with landlines in the past, when the separation of the keyboard and receiver made it convenient to key-in the numbers. With smartphones, it is a nightmare.

It is time to express some dissent in this country: A smartphone is a terrible tool for “electronic booking.” Leave alone the fact that you have to keep shifting your phone from ear to hand a dozen times. When you take the phone away from the ear, the keyboard vanishes. How do you bring it back? Nowhere on the screen does it say. My son explained to me later that I had to press a small squiggle in the corner of the screen.

Armed with this piece of tech know-how, I sat down to book the cylinder again. But another problem presented itself, one that should have been, in hindsight, obvious to the “techies” who made this thing. After hearing the number-tagged options recited by a slightly eerie voice, I moved the phone to my hand—and promptly forgot which number I was supposed to press. I had to cut the call and start again.

This time, I listened carefully and punched in the number. But I had mistakenly tapped the wrong number. I cut the call and tried again. I got to the point when the voice started repeating my consumer number after me and then asked me to press a certain number to confirm it. You can probably guess what happened next. I pressed the wrong number again and was told the booking could not be done.

I gave up and asked my husband to book the cylinder. My phone was acting odd, I lied like a coward. He handed me his phone and said, “Use mine.” Now, his phone scares me. It is more complicated than mine and makes me feel like an idiot. I had no course of action left other than confessing and submitting myself to his tender mercy. I told him of my utter and complete defeat in the battle and my voice became almost hysterical toward the end. He hastily said, “Okay, okay! I’ll do it!”

The next time I had to book the cylinder, I called with a great deal of trepidation. Imagine my happiness when a person answered it! The girl at the other end said she would send a cylinder as soon as possible. No smug recorded voice, no forgettable options, no vanishing keyboards.

Pragati Nayak

Email: pragati.16017@gmail.com

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