'Killing Time' by Sravanthi Challapalli

Anita’s grandfather was born in a small village early in the twentieth century. He walked to school ninety minutes away. His mother would pack him off with curd rice and mango pickle. It had to last him till he returned in the evening. He would fish out a piece of mango and ensconce it in one cheek till he reached school, revelling in the salty, hot and sour juices it yielded as it moved around his mouth. 

Anita listened to videos, audiobooks and podcasts on her phone as she endeavoured to rack up 10,000 steps a day over three or four bouts of walking inside her apartment. The exercise would feel so effortless if only she lived in one of those spacious, modern apartment blocks or a peaceful neighbourhood, instead of plumb in the middle of the city. 

Would her grandad have liked a phone to fill his time as he wended his way to school? Had he been the type to soak in the greenery, lush rice fields and ponds in the relatively untouched Nature of a rural world over a hundred years ago? Would a piece of pickle satisfy her? It would not. Moreover, she had her hypertension to think of. Further, today’s mango would disintegrate long before nine minutes, never mind ninety. Anita giggled at the comparison, though regretful that her grandfather died just before he could discover the wonders of a mobile phone.