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Flashback again: I remembered those times at the ration shop when I would reach the baniya (grocer) after an hour or two in the line and get my share of subsidised wheat and kerosene. Those behind me had still some hard work to do before they could get their fill.
Reality check: I switched on Aakash. It was working fine. Not as smooth as iPad 2 but then at Rs 2,500 I wasn't expecting the moon.
However, I had not bargained for my happiness not even lasting 30 minutes.
When I tried to enable Wi-Fi Aakash conked off.
It refuses to come to life again. For the last forty-eight hours I have been trying my best with generous help from my computer engineer friends to restart it.
Aakash has refused to budge.
The icing on the Froyo cake (Aakash runs on Android 2.2): I have been trying to call the help line numbers mentioned in the booklet that is part of the Aakash bundle. I just cannot get through. Why? Those numbers don't exist (Please try, 1 800 180 2180 and a sweet voice says, 'Sorry, your call cannot be processed').
I requested my doubly lucky friend (firstly because he got Aakash and secondly I bought his defective piece) -- the original owner of Aakash -- to send an e-mail complaint. He too failed to elicit any response.
Now, after three days I have realised I have got a piece of junk and it is of no use. I am poorer by Rs 2,700 (Rs 2,500 for buying the revolutionary product and Rs 200 on account of delivery charges) for daring to buy 'the poor man's iPad'.
After my experience I shudder to think about the fate of millions of students across India to whom the government plans to sell Aakash by subsidising it further to Rs 1,500. No doubt the government's intention is noble: It wants to empower students by enjoying the fruit of technology in this digitally competitive world. What if their Aakash moment turns out to be -- as a colleague cleverly punned -- an Ah Kaash (if only I had not bought it) moment!
At the time of writing this piece 14 lakh (1.4 million) Indians had already ordered Aakash online. I don't know how these million units of Aakash would perform but mine went kaput in 30 minutes and is now beyond repair.
Postscript:
As a child, I used to ask my grandfather, why do we need to stand in front of the ration shop in long queues to buy wheat when many others bought it from the open shops.
He told me a very nice story. "We are poor," he had said, "and we should be thankful that the Indian government is at least providing subsidised food to us. Therefore we can afford to eat."
My father a union leader countered him. "The wheat that we eat from ration shops is meant for horses in America. Since those horses don't eat it the American government dumps it on India's poor."
While I didn't buy a subsidised Aakash I can only sincerely wish that mine is a one-off instance and all those students going for government-subsidised Aakash have a smooth ride once they get the device in their hands.
Having said that here's my advice: (excuse me the scream but) DON'T BUY AKASH TABLET. Period.
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