Breathless on air
I would call the designated number only to have it constantly engaged.
FM Radio has me hooked. I listen to ‘Breakfast with Bunta’ ‘Retro with Rohit’ and everything in between. I love the interactive element of the Channels. ‘Identify the song/ the singer,’ ‘Tell us what you did in the last 24 hours.’ ‘What gets your goat?’ ask the chirpy twenty something RJs and I feel compelled to respond.
When I first began to take part in the contests/interactions, I was new to the cell phone and by the time I could text my reply, the second contest would have begun. Undeterred, I would call the designated number only to have it constantly engaged. Now, my texting speed and strategy for these contests have got better. The numbers of radio stations, the prototype sms are all stored and I just need to type in my message and send it.
I text the right answer, the completed slogan, many times but thousands of others do too and my number doesn’t get picked. I don’t win the dinner coupon/ the gift hamper- Darn! But let’s focus on the ‘hits.’ Shall we? I once won a contest on Earth Day and felt very guilty for travelling all the way to St Mark’s road to collect a cloth bag instead of sitting at home and collecting carbon credits.
So, now, that hard won box of juicy Alphonso mangoes, tickets to some forgotten play etc are left languishing at the radio stations. What is so hard about winning these contests, you ask? Having once texted the station, the cell phone and you have to be kept free for some time-just in case the RJ calls, a task that becomes suddenly onerous. The whole world wants your attention. Doesn’t it know the RJ might call and put you on air?
A few of the RJs are witty, self depreciating and a pleasure to listen to. When they call me I want to be like them too. But all I manage is a damp response in a shrill voice. “You sound excited” the RJ points out. Hey, wasn’t he the one who urged me to sound excited at the beginning of the call? In the recent ‘Gaali do’ segment of a popular radio channel, I was told to hurl abuses at anybody of my choice. I chose men who spit and pee on roads. But once on air, all I could manage was a meek ‘Please don’t do this, it is disgusting’ much to the RJ’s and my disappointment. ‘What a let down, amma, you should have thought of us, then the Gaalis would have just rolled down your tongue’ admonished my children.
I caught myself before I blurted out ‘You rascals!’
