Column

Admitting it is dreadfully awkward when you have data empowered wunderkinds under 7 with the ability to beat Mensa, telling how to use your mobile phone's barcode and sports tracker applications. It is worse when you try to disregard the countless, obvious references on the information superhighway which liken admitting you are a cell-calamity, to coming out of the tech closet. I discovered it almost by accident last week when my humble mobile, the only tech-tool in my palm, crashlanded on terra firma and had to be euthanized.

Ok, so it's out in the open… I'm a neo mobo-phobe.I have a deep-rooted fear of new generation mobiles-- aspirational, hi-tech and chic as they are. I have panic attacks each time a new application opens by mistake and menacingly threatens to go on self-delete mode. But after my modest self-anointment as a low-tech digital dud, I finally feel unabashedly free. A few years earlier I considered myself moderately knowledgeable when it came to demystifying these gadgets. Today, with humility, I surrender. As far as mobile phones go, give me the basics--texting, the ability to receive and make calls, caller ID, and a little more. I have discovered that the sheer power of simplicity works best for me. Just last week as I dug into my bag for my keys, my trusty phone decided to hitch a ride on my key chain. Before I knew it, it was too late for a mid-air rescue mission. Sure death, no chance of survival or reconstructive surgery. Keypad on the grass, top panel in a ditch, battery and lower panel in the mud, and central unit in rainwater. If you're like me and refuse to follow a predictably labour-intensive routine like noting down contact numbers in a phone book, you must know the “Oh my God, I've stopped memorising phone numbers long ago!” moment I'm talking about.

With a heavy heart, I typed 'My phone fell…' on a search engine for some damage control.Then, the cloudy skies parted and the sun shone through. Some kindred souls, who probably share my Murphy's-Law exclusivity, seemed to have it worse as Google's auto suggest revealed. I found many had lost their data when their phones fell in water, in the toilet, in the toilet, in the pool, in vomit. Mine's exit was dignified, sacrificial even.

As much as my mobile has transmuted into an 11th finger and gives me phantom digit twinges when it is not safely ensconced in the palm of my hand, I hate to read mail on the phone, I never use the GPS, am not a fan of phone e-books and moving from 2 to 3G is not a lifestyle change I consciously seek. So I figured my choice of new phone would be remarkably simple.Foolish me! Today, even the most basic handset has features that can leave you looking dippy if you don't use them. The handset I landed up with seems to know my state of mind and even mocks me. It asks cheekily if I want my contact list to be created on Gizmo or if I want to sign in for share online when I click a photo. If I want to go pro on world travel services or activate my wireless keyboard. I sms a friend, “My smart phone is maniacal, help!”. Her rationale is in my inbox a nanosecond later. “Wat's a smart phone nyway? Cn it come up wid witty repartees, giv a tongue lashing 2 rude auto drivers or ask 4 an increment? Nah, didn't tink so.