State of Place

The Jaipur Vodafone store has a line like the Bronx DMV. And why am I here? Because my phone disappeared somehow — not on Holi, mind you, but innocently the day before. Just up and left. Pulled a Houdini.

I had it at the PJ Exports office, maybe in the car, not when I got home. Or did I? Did I absently misplace it? Will I find it somewhere in my accumulated junk when I pack up tonight at the Sneh Deep guesthouse? Doubtful, because I didn’t hear a vibration when I tried calling it with the houseboy’s loaned phone, lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

After a last-ditch call to the guy whose office I thought I’d left it in didn’t yield success — “I’ve had my men looking all morning,” he said — I accepted the $22 Nokia as gone forever.

Talked with Manoj the guesthouse owner about options. He drew a map to the shop that would suspend the SIM card, maybe sell me a used phone. A buddy, apparently, who doesn’t speak much English.

Walked down, found the mobile man, and attempted to converse in Hindi. “Phone hoagie-yah.” He eventually impressed upon me that I needed to visit the Vodafone store in Raja Park. He explained the same to the autorickshaw driver, and we quickly agreed on half of his quoted transit price. Made our way down a crumbling road in the direction of the mobile man’s point.

Eventually a major intersection. Driver turned right, I glanced left and saw the Vodafone store.

And here I am, still waiting on a DMV line to get a new SIM card.

I’m a carpetman, people. Can’t be in India without a mobile.

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