I’ve had this phone since 2012. The 7-year itch is a good self-deprecating joke to go back to, for lack of material isn’t exactly uncommon but I realised it was no small feat on an email thread to V. The phone was a Diwali gift from Co (I had started working there after the dip) and was light-years ahead of the Nokia I was wielding to scare dogs away on my way back home in the ill-lit streets of SushantLokPhaseOne.[1] It is—technically—not the same phone in Theseus-terms; I’ve replaced the screen twice (Once on my own for INR 500; an achievement I wish I had a certificate to show off for. I’d moved out of the hostel-with-the-neighbour-with-a-pentalobe-screwdriver by the time that broke again.), taken the camera module off after short-circuiting the flash innards riding to Wayanad in the rain, with the second screen broken (and not taped over like in the scan here) and the phone soaking up water in my raincoat’s pocket. In the beginning, I could do serious damage (or so I fantasised) with just the phone and a fruit-branded ecosystem. The photos looked alright with heavy-handed Instagram filters but it was the scan-for-processing that worked like a charm. Tethering the thing to the Mac was flawless and I could go from sketch to vector in a matter of minutes.

Thanks to being so far out of the OS update loop, I was getting two-three-even-four days of life from a full charge. It had essentially become a Nokia if one were to discount its breaking often in the last couple of years. Except for the orientation-challenged 30-pin connector, it was perfect for a low-tech lifestyle in spite of the smartness bits. As a phone to make calls and type properly punctuated, smart-quoted text messages with, it delivered way more than what I had come to expect from seven-year old electronics with screens on them. Yet, I was dreading the day the thing finally needed replacement not because we had fallen in love. I do believe it is perhaps possible to feel quasi-mystical connection with things, especially when they have known intimate stuff about your choices for years. While it is somewhat (…) true that I am too much of a cheapskate when it comes to undoing purse-strings over anything other than upgrades to bicycle-parts that don’t really need them, I was also dreading the loss of street-cred (no?) and facing the possibility that the next phone might not last as long as this one. Plus, how long do I wait before markering the figleaves out of the selfie camera from the inside?

I’ve made the switch to a more (…ish, at least) modern thing with a lovely greyscale view doodad that I switch out of only to make sure the colour bits still work. It is thinner and taller and wakes up when lifted and given scritches with love. Or maybe I am mixing this up with Miss K on that last one.

Now, hold my Sambharam while I congratulate self variously over apparent frugality and finally being able to superswipe people on Tinder.

1: Diwali, light-years, ill-lit, Phase One. Stop reading if you aren’t laughing hysterically already.