About a month back the apple of my eye went kaput. And this happened
just 2 days after the warranty ran out. Talk about
timing! So while I was coping with this the one thought recurrent in my mind was, ‘Nokia! My Nokia device went phut?‘
didn’t I mention which model? A Lumia 920. Absolute crunchy, juicy apple of my eye, left-right immaterial.
Let me first shed wholesome light on what exactly went wrong. The night of Jan 23 instant, I played my customary
game of Wordament before dropping off into my customary dreamless. If you haven’t yet cottoned on to this game, by the
way, you’d better rectify this grave oversight pronto, even forsaking breakfast for this is hot, just what the doctor
ordered to amuse, improve and instruct us mortals. Describing it would be a severe digression but maybe I’ll oblige
you, gentle reader, later on but now, let’s be sternly focused on my Lumia 920 saga.
So then, I played my customary game and popped off having safely parked the precious phone on the bedside table,
away from any possible accident that could befall it. Trusted lieutenants vouch for the fact that Lumia 920, black, lay intact
through the rest of the night. The following morning, having slipped outside of the refreshing brew, bolstered by a few of
the crunchy-crumbly and taken a gander at the broadsheet informing all of the happenings in the wide world, I picked said
Lumia 920 up and decided to catch up on the mails. Like all seasoned Lumians, I double-tapped the screen to awaken the sleeping
beauty. I was greeted not by the usual crisp display but by vertical white lines packed 19.9 to the dozen, causing a complete
lack of any intelligible legibility of any hue. To say I was aghast would be accurate but also quite inadequate.
As all users know the world over, restarting the afflicted device is the normally
accepted method to set most problems right in Windowsia. Back in the hoary days of MS-DOS one Ctrl-Alt-Del-ed suavely, with
panache, causing awe to strike the eyes of the uninitiated and murmurs of admiration rend the air but in these romance-less
days, this is commonplace. I restarted. And Lumia responded with the very same vertical lines instead of PureBlack striking
admiration. Remembering the kindly advice of a tech centre techie, I pressed soft-boot into service. Now this business is
almost identical to the Ctrl-Alt-Del spread-fingers finger stretching: you need to simultaneously press the Volume rocker
down button, the Power button and the Camera button—which Nokia, in a masterstroke of design, have placed on the same
side, thus making it an act that doesn’t necessarily defy Physics; you may bite your lip as you manoeuvre your hitherto
untested fingers but you will be able to accomplish what you’ve set out to do (later on discovery kind whittled
down this nostalgic comparison: you just need to press the volume down and power buttons together, the third one has been
given the short shrift). The phone gave the expected shiver and the screen brightened… but ditto results. This
is where the plaintive cry of “Et tu, Nokia?” made an insistent comeback.
How could, I wailed in silence, Nokia build devices that malfunctioned? And so soon? And when so gently tended? And
when so carefully handled? Nokia? There was nothing else to do but call their Service Centre. The gentle soul at
the other end could tell me nothing beyond what I hadn’t already tried: to wit, press the volume-power-camera keys simultaneously
to urge a soft boot. Which produced the exact same result it had when I had done it under my own steam. Then? Gentle Soul
urged me to visit a Nokia Care Centre since there wasn’t anything else he could advise remotely.
I knew the IMEI number was needed for this and that it
- on the sticker stuck on the
box in which the a-o-m-e had arrived, or,
- printed on the
- and could be seen on the screen by pressing
- printed somewhere on the phone—though
not on the outside
Neither a nor b could
be found—am sure you’ve experienced this umpteen times yourself, gentle reader. You’d seldom find something
you need when you need it. There’s a law somewhere
in this regard just that I can’t put my finger on it right now. Option c was obviously ruled out. Now, d was the only
one left. Stop me if you’re familiar with Lumia 920 but this wonder has no removable back nor battery or a memory card
slot. There’s just one tiny slot which is pushed with a pin to slide a tray out where you park the micro SIM. No IMEI
I’m sure you’ve noticed that your child—if
you’re in that category, that is—probably has better grip on electronic gadgets. An emergency call to my son yielded
a snort and a Youtube link that showed the sleight of hand required to coax the IMEI number out from beneath the SIM tray.
You need to ferret with the pin on one side to prompt another slimmer tray to slide out. Of course you’d need better
eyes than mine to read the damn number but yield its secret it did. I was armed.
The closest Care Centre is barely 5 kms from my home but the visit there proved to be an unmitigated, yes you guessed
it, disaster. The wife and I walked in. The initial chappie at the door sort of corrals the walk-in, thrusting a slip of paper
to be filled-in that needed to only exclude my DoB and early childhood. The filled-in slip led me to, for want of a more apt
word, the level one advisor. He greeted me courteously enough and proceeded to give my a-o-m-e a thorough once-over, squinting,
peering, turning it over and over and proceeded to lay the blame squarely at my door.
“You must have dropped it, sir,” he intoned lugubriously.
Met with hot denial.
“Then something must have
dropped on it, sir,” he countered.
Met with hotter denial.
“Something must have happened to it sir, that’s why the display is blown.”
“Something must have happened but isn’t it your job to tell me what
could indeed have happened?”
He did some more turning over
and over. Then, without going into the whys and the wheretofores, he pronounced, “This is not covered under warranty
so you will need to pay for it.”
Now, follow me like a
hungry leopard here. This stocky gent had not bothered to check the device IMEI, warranty coverage, nothing. His pronouncement
was just like that! And in my mind I ‘knew’ (the quote marks are justified) the warranty period was over.
With a prescient foreboding, I asked, “And that’d be how much?”
A casual toss of a look at a crony seated behind in the ‘workshop’
and an inaudible murmur, the advisor turned back and said, “11,000 to fix this.”
To cut the rest of the encounter short, the visit was a disaster. Next, I went to another Care Centre in Gurgaon,
a cheery 25 kms trip. Perhaps the distance travelled made things better… these guys turned out to be more what I’d
expect from Nokia. The same slip needed to be filled-in but here the advisor at the counter first checked the device
thoroughly, quickly tickled the hidden slimmer tray to give up the IMEI, input that in his computer and up sprang the phone
details. Wonder of wonder, my warranty was valid till mid-Feb!
men in white lab coats—only not—reported no visible physical damage which corroborated my assertion that no outrage
had befallen Lumia. The advisor then dolefully informed that they were however unable to fix the phone in-house and that they’d
need to send it Nokia’s workshop for R & R, preceded by thorough diagnosis. A few formalities and a signed receipt
later, I parted tearfully from the a-o-m-e, promised a reunion in 10 days’ time.
27 days have passed instead with said reunion postponed at each telephonic interaction with Care Centre personnel
by ‘5 working days’. The 2nd interaction revealed that my Lumia, the a-o-m-e, has developed an affliction
that has eluded all attempts by skilled lab-coats at detection. I have been promised I’d be given a replacement set
instead… the original apple of my eye will not come back to me… Let’s see what transpires.
Postscript: You may wonder what phone is standing by me in these testing times—for
which ‘modern’ man can survive the daily grind without a smartphone to see him through—perhaps? My other
a-o-m-e, my trusted HTC 7 Mozart the Lionheart… 3+ years and going strong.
Post-postscript: Nokia Care Centre failed its own committed delivery date of Feb 24. But instead of a ‘5 working
days’ horizon I’m being given ‘let’s see tomorrow…’
Post-postscript follow-up: Finally… finally the Care bears called up on Feb 26 to announce the arrival of
the a-o-m-e… that I collected on the stormyafternoon of Feb 28. You may use your dark glasses when checking out my replacement a-o-m-e
on the right here!
I end my first part of my mobiles saga here and
promise to regale you with stories of all the intervening sets in a week or ten days’ time. (Psst! Gives me fodder
for another upload! Whew! Writers labours, I tell you!)