They’re not bathing for hours and hours anymore, muchos gracias to the cellphone culture. At least now, the dogged film producer, director, journo and even debt collector striving to contact a B-ville celebrity, doesn’t have to suffer the ignominy of being miffed on the landline telephone.

If your call was being avoided like dental plaque, the butler-ayah-mom-sister-country cousin on the other end of the line, would snarl, “Madam bathroom hai” or “Saab soyela hai”. In fact, the bathing and sleeping sessions were so lengthy and frequent that the celebrities should have surely earned bigtime mentions in the Guinness Book of Records. Or in the Limca editions, at least.
Oftentime stars, of either gender, would disguise their voices and hiss through their pearlies that “madams” or “saabs” weren’t accessible because of their devotion to body cleansing and zzzz-ing. For centuries, reclusive dancing star Helen would claim she is not at home, but always gave herself away because her inborn manners compelled her to sign off every unsolicited call with a, “Bye dearie”.
As for Rekha’s landline voice-machine, it remains a classic. A male voice sounding very much like a provision store grocer asserts, “Wheee are noot at home. Live yourrr nome and nomber and whee will get beck”. Ma’am Re gets back maybe — just maybe — after two days, or a week, depending on how she rates your call, in terms of importance (read beneficial publicity to her).
Voice experts have concluded that the grocer-like voice is Rekha’s very own. The voice on the machine is male, but then she’s always been a perfect mimic, also of a certain tall actor soon to be seen in Bbudha Hoga Tera Baap. Or some such. Incidentally, recently Ram Gopal Varma cracked a really good one, on his networking site, that the film should have a female version with Rekha, titled Bbudhi Hogi Teri Maa. Oh oh, such a sense of humour. Surely, Ma’am will never ever return Varma’s call after that one.
To give Amitabh Bachchan his due, the progress in sim-card technology hasn’t altered his phone courtesies at all. The landline at his home is still manned by the ever-polite secretary Rosy Singh, who infallibly returns with Mr B’s status: reachable or not. If her Big Boss doesn’t want to answer a call, she chimes, “Mr Bachchan is a bit busy today. I will get back to you.” Cool. Boss’ cellphone number is pretty widely known in showbiz circles: although calls are not instantly taken, every SMS draws a response. SMS texts are his forte, written with far more concision and grammar than his blogs. Touchoak.
Alexander Graham Bell would frown. In the last five years or so, no one communicates through the good ole landline at all. Rishi Kapoor picks up his two age-old phone numbers himself, but Ranbir has to be contacted through the SMS circuit. Besides Ranbir, his objects of affection — right from Deepika Padukone and Katrina Kapoor to Nargis Fakhri and Angela Jonsson — are also severe SMS-aficionados. Of the lot, Deepika is the most lingua-literate, her messages never sounding as if they were Martian. She actually punctuates her sentences.
Shah Rukh Khan’s landline was never a route to take. And even his closest chums cannot reach him on his cell rightaway. The inbox is full, if you’re fortunate to make it to the “sent” status, then the reply will arrive straight off occasionally, or during the wee hours. SRK scrolls his messages post-midnight, selecting the ones he wants to acknowledge. If he doesn’t, that means your msg must have made as much sense to him as a hieroglyphic. The Khan, it is widely known, suffers from insomnia, which is why cell communication is most successful with post-midnight.
Ditto, surprise surprise, Vidya Balan who’s not likely to ever land the role of Sleeping Beauty. She doesn’t sleep or doze sufficiently, she gets busy perusing and responding to messages only around 1 am on her BlackBerry. Kangna Ranaut, for some baffling reason, makes you swear on everything holy before disclosing her ’Berry number. Guess she’s paranoid about unwanted calls from a litany of former beaux, topped by Aditya Panscholi.
The BlackBerry club is something else entirely. Freshly shot photographs, that deadly look developed for a deadlier part of the don, babies’ happy burrday pictures, are pinged regularly, but only among friendly co-stars. Competition is strictly excluded.
Priyanka Chopra, who’s rumoured to be tech-savvy, seems to have developed a third ear, her cellphone model is upgraded every day. Now that’s one number you’re never been thrilled about contacting. Once when you did, La Chopra was repeating every word you uttered to her father-mother-and-kid brother who had accompanied her to a shooting schedule in South Africa. Or was her cell just equipped with a space-age echo chamber?
Kareena Kapoor is pretty prompt with her SMS interaction, especially on the eve of her film’s release. She likes to keep the critics happy, wise girl. On other days, she appears to be lost in a no-network-zone somewhere in Siberia or the Sahara (desert, that is). Coming to the B-rung of film stars — Riteish Deshmukh for instance — they’re within instant reach of an sms. Messages are replied to in excruciating detail. Shockingly, newcomers and the not-so-happening stars are the only sweet souls who actually give you their landline phone number, besides email and what-have-you-ids.
Once, popularity is attained, the landline is dead. And to be honest, you wonder whatever happened to those luxurious bubble baths and Kumbhkaran-style sleepfests?