The Long Way Home
I remember the good old days, around fourteen years ago, before Jio changed everything.
Back then, we had two keypad phones in our house. One belonged to my father, and the other was shared by the rest of us. There were no unlimited calling plans, no cheap internet packs, and certainly no endless scrolling.
A mobile phone felt less like a necessity and more like a privilege.
Whenever we wanted to call our aunt or uncle, we would buy a top-up scratch card from a nearby shop. I still remember scratching off the silver coating with a one-rupee coin, carefully revealing the recharge code underneath. A ₹10 top-up would give us ₹7.49 of talk time, and every minute of a call felt valuable because it literally cost money.
Today, we can spend hours talking without a second thought. Back then, even a ten-minute conversation felt expensive (It was literally).
The internet wasn’t really a part of my life yet. In fact, I barely knew what it was.
But I had my own way of listening to music.
Airtel had a toll-free number — 550550 — for Hello Tunes. I would call it and listen to different trending songs played over the phone. After a few seconds, an automated voice would interrupt:
“To keep this song as your Hello Tune, press 1.”
I never pressed 1.
Not because I didn’t want the song.
Because I knew it would deduct ₹5 from the balance.
And if that happened, my mother would definitely scold me for wasting precious talk time.
Getting scolded over ₹5.
Would anyone believe that today?
Yet when I think about it now, it feels strangely magical. There was a time when ₹5 genuinely mattered. Listening to ten seconds of a song through a tiny keypad phone felt entertaining enough to brighten an entire day.
And then there were movies.
Me and 2 of my friend contribute all our savings to get movies and songs from the nearby computer shop. Two movie cost us 10 rupees yet we request computer uncle to copy some songs to our 2 gb memory card for free. Sometimes he does and sometimes he scold, and three of us would squeeze around a tiny 1.8-inch screen to enjoy the movie.
The picture quality was terrible.
The screen was tiny.
The audio was barely loud enough.
And somehow, it was perfect.
Ah, those were the days.
Yesterday, I bought a Jio keypad phone.
This isn’t a promotion.
It costs ₹799 and comes with basic features — simple browsing, UPI payments, and little else. I bought it for two reasons.
The first was distraction.
Over the years, I have realised how easily attention is sold. Every notification, every recommendation, every endless feed competes for a piece of our focus. I no longer want to trade my attention for cheap dopamine.
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The second reason was practicality.
The recharge plan starts at just ₹123 a month and covers everything I need. No unnecessary features. No endless temptations.
Just a phone.
I’m hoping it helps me reclaim something that feels increasingly rare today — focus.
Focus on my work.
Focus on my choices.
Focus on my life.
But while holding that keypad phone yesterday, another realisation collided in my mind.
I think many of us have forgotten how to celebrate our victories (the smaller ones especially).
Social media has trapped us in a cycle of constant comparison. We spend so much time looking at people who are ahead of us that we rarely stop and look behind us.
We forget where we started.
Fourteen years ago, I could never have imagined living alone in a town full of unfamiliar faces, taking care of myself, and pursuing my own goals without a safety net.
I could never have imagined building a life that depended entirely on my own decisions.
Some days, I show up at my best.
I study for seven or eight hours.
I take care of myself.
I move closer to my goals.
Other days are much harder.
Some days, motivation disappears completely. Some days getting out of bed feels like an achievement. Some days, my confidence sinks below the ground.
But even on those days, I keep showing up.
And maybe that matters more than I realise.
I don’t know what destiny has planned for me.
I don’t know where this journey will eventually lead.
But I do know this:
If the boy who worried about losing ₹5 of talk time could see my life today, he would probably think I was already living a dream.
And honestly?
I think he would be proud.
So am I.
📌 This story is published under Quirky Rants — a home for unfiltered thoughts, everyday oddities, and real, relatable voices.
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