The internet in your face, literally

The mobile phone came into our life several years ago and immediately began to shape it.  No longer did we have to give our spouse an estimate of when we’d be home before we left the office. If our children wandered off in a crowded railway station while we were not looking, we could locate them in an instant. And we could tell our boss that we were stuck in traffic on the way to work when, in fact, we were still at home, preparing to shave. Having shaped our life, the mobile phone then began taking control of it. It became swifter, sleeker and smarter. I’m not sure if we correspondingly became slower, sloppier and stupider, but we definitely became increasingly dependent on it, using it to take pictures, find our way, communicate on email, buy movie tickets, check in for flights, read a book and – every now and then – make a phone call.

Till a couple of years ago, my wife and I used to lament that our teenage daughter spends far too much time on her mobile phone. But now everyone is behaving like her.

The other day I went out for a boys’ night out. The plan was to meet Ravi Bhaskar for a drink and then have dinner with two other college friends. When I got to the bar, Bhaskar was already there, a drink at his side. He was deeply engaged with his smart-phone.

“Hi Ravi,” I said.

“One sec,” he said, head down and fingers scrolling.

“Hi!” he said after a few seconds, looking up briefly before turning to the screen again and flicking feverishly with fingers. “Just checking stock prices.”

“Is Shyam coming?” I asked. Shyam Laxmanan had said he would try to join us at the bar if he could.

“Let me WhatsApp him,” said Ravi, He bent down and engaged with his phone. “He’s caught up at work. Says he can’t make it for the drink, but will join us at the dinner venue.”

He chatted with the absent Shyam while I watched golf on the bar’s television screen.

“Where should we eat?” I asked when he looked up, two holes later. He consulted his phone.

“Margarita’s has got good reviews. Listen to this: ‘authentic Mexican food full of flavours, this place…’”

“Ok, let’s go there.” I interrupted before he could read out more reviews and check other restaurants, as he seemed inclined to do.

“One sec,” he said. “Let me ping the location to Shyam and Murthy.”

As he did so, I was able to watch the pros tee off for the next hole.

In the taxi he showed me pictures of the food we were going to eat (just in case poor lighting at Margarita’s rendered it difficult to see the actual food), made an endearing call to his wife (“All well, darling! And you? I’m on the way to the restaurant. Love you too!”) and checked his email. At Margarita’s, it was time to monitor stock prices again and read a few life-and-death tweets.

As I waited for the other two friends to arrive and watched Bhaskar happily engage with his instrument, I felt I was like inserting my company into the bedroom of a couple on their honeymoon.

But that night I read an article by Nick Bilton in The New York Times that suggested Bhaskar may soon break up with his phone… and engage in a love affair with a new gadget: his hi-tech spectacles. According to Bilton, the new Android-based Google glasses, with a small screen a few inches from the eye, will have 3- or 4-G data connectivity, sensors to detect motion and GPS, all of which “will be able to stream information to the wearer’s eyeballs in real time.” In addition the glasses will carry a camera “to monitor the world in real time and overlay information about locations, surrounding buildings and friends who might be nearby.”

Wow, the internet in your face, literally! To scroll and click, you would tilt your head and move it. In the beginning this might make you look silly (if the glasses hadn’t done this already) but, according to the blogger Seth Weintraub, “once the user is adept at navigation, it becomes second nature and almost indistinguishable to outside users.”

I imagine Bhaskar wearing these glasses when I join him at the bar.

“Hi Ravi,” I say.

“Hi!” he replies, turning to me but looking at a point two feet above my head, “Apple is up $0.13.”

“Kudos to Apple,” I say. “Is Shyam joining us?”

“Let me check,” says Bhaskar, staring above me and nodding gently. “He is stuck in traffic on the AYE. Two cars are in a minor accident; drivers are arguing; one’s a black BMW, the other a silver Toyota Camry...”

Before he tells me the drivers’ names, occupation and hobbies, I ask him about dinner.

A glazed look comes into his eyes. “Japanese? How about Ginzo in Raffles City? I see they received fresh fish this morning from Alaska… in a 40-foot container. And for vegetarians…” He recites the menu, interrupting himself to update me on Shyam’s progress in traffic.

“Raffles City is Singapore’s tallest building,” I say to drag him away from the ether. It doesn’t work.

“Yes,” says Bhaskar, staring hard above my head, “but when I place it next to Dubai’s Burj, it’s completely dwarfed. Wait! I’m bringing the KL Twin Towers into the picture.”

Suddenly he addresses me endearingly: “Hi Darling. How was your day?” I’m astonished, but he continues: “Ok, take care. Love you too.” He is on Skype with his wife.

I think I prefer Bhaskar’s current addiction to the smart-phone. At least he doesn’t make eye-contact with me in the middle of his romance.