Tapping our phones....

It is obviously not a good feeling to know that someone is listening to your phone conversations, yet I have had my fun moments in Pakistan where our phones are routinely tapped.

Friends and family have learnt to say “namaste” to “bhais” tapping phones and often hold imaginary conversations with them. “Bhai please go easy on her….,” a friend acknowledged Bhai’s presence recently.

Another friend has named "phone-Bhai" – Kabeer. 

“Is he good looking?” she joked one day. Since I said “yes”, she started talking to K-Bhai. “Kabeer, are you listening? Kabeer, I am willing to relocate. Kabeer, I am single and ready to mingle….” she guffawed. 

However, we are not the only ones having fun. Bhais have their moments too. Once when I called my sister from my husband’s mobile phone I heard a man’s voice. “Who are you?” I asked. “You tell me who you are…” K-Bhai was flirting. I passed the phone to my husband.

A friend heard her phone-Bhai laughing really hard because she was trying to gently remind her young daughter that their phone was tapped!

I'd be lying if I'd say that tapping doesn't affect my conversations. Sometimes my talk tends to be coded because it feels odd to spell out everything. “Are the payments done?” I keep checking with my sister. My sister, too, quickly retorts with a “yes” or a “no” and blurts the amount – both foolishly thinking that we have outsmarted Bhai who has never heard of LIC!   

Then there are times when I want people to take hints and codes to work --but no! My aunt loves breaking into a monologue about how unsafe Pakistan is and how she would like to have me back in India and I suddenly become hugely conscious of K-Bhai's presence. Or worse, her favourite query which makes me cringe --- how is your health NOW? She perhaps remembers my typhoid many years ago, but I would seriously love to know what Bhai makes of that.

Every so often I think that having heard all my friends’ and family’s collective problems K-Bhai should offer some solutions. Or at least tell us why a man with a Pashtu accent answers my husband’s number when I call or when my phone rings late into the night why is the display number mine!

It takes a while to get over K-Bhai, but I don't think I can ever check him out of my consciousness. Just one moment of regret though. I wish I hadn’t stopped myself from crying on my mother’s first death anniversary -- because I was so very conscious of K-Bhai!