I had 24 hours to prove to the world, my parents, and my teachers (did I mention my mother) that I could live without technology. Two simple, rudimentary words sum up my attempt. Because if life is a game, then I suppose that the two words that describe my voyage into the darkness of the technology-less are Game Over.

The Calm Before the Storm

It’s like everybody is out to get me. I can see the grin on my mother’s face. She walks into the house, her face splitting in half as she contemplates my slow demise. I ask her how Parent Night was, noticing that she is in fact home instead of roving the halls looking for my next class. It would seem that I need to start giving my family more credit. She looks at me, glancing at the laptop I’m typing at and suddenly the temperature drops. The gleam in her eyes increases as she whispers that I will be finding out on my own, whisking off upstairs to what I presume laugh into the darkness like an evil dark lord.

Some time later I see the gleam again, this time gracing a different face, and all I can feel is relief - I was generally worried that my mother was going to do something drastic. After all it wouldn’t be the first time she unplugged our television or cancelled our subscription to Netflix. 24 hours was certainly worrying, but not as problematic as navigating the bomb-ridden waters to getting back our tentative subscription to the all-you-can-watch movie fest.
“This is easy.”
Famous Last Words.
Trial One.
The microwave starts beeping, alerting the public at large that explosion is imminent in T minus 5, 4, 3, 2,1...I open the door. My milk awaits me, sitting in its porcelain mug. I grasp the handle, lift my toast out of its metal confines and waltz out to the table humming. Its Friday, and a beautiful one at that.
I hear the door of the guest bedroom creak and grimace. There will be no music where my mother sits, at least not the type I enjoy - its too early for classical, and I just heard a rather nice OneRepublic tune the day before. I busy myself with my milk, the steam has receded a bit, stirring some Ovaltine, nodding in approval at the light brown hue. Today should be pretty good.
I chance a look behind as I watch my mother glaring at me. I rack my brain trying to remember what I forgot.
I put out the trash, I did the dishes, my homework is done-she doesn’t know about the essay does she? I suddenly remember, blurting out “ I promise I’ll practice when I get home, I have two days, I’ll be fine!”. The glare intensifies exponentially.
“Maya, weren’t you supposed to be going without using electricity today?”
I blink.
Game Over.
Meanwhile a diatribe about procrastinating on music practice starts gathering steam. I can see it swelling as she gets into pace about my inherent laziness and lack of appreciation for all the opportunities I have been given over the past ten years.
If at first you don’t succeed try, try again.
Friday turns out to be a little on the brisk side. I check the phone carelessly tossed in my pocket, relishing the warmth it gives as my fingers wrap around it. 7:15. I have 20 minutes until... right. My eyes search in spite of themselves, wondering if I can be forgiven, if I can walk down pretending. The twinge in my gut says no, my long forsaken moral fiber making a long awaited appearance. The words flash, contorting themselves, whispering. Game Over.

Listening.
As a sterling example of the amazing disconnect that is the human reflex and my brain, I listened to an entire two seconds of my favorite song before my brain caught up. I believe I allowed an entire 5 seconds of “Nothing” by the Script to pass unnoticed. A man’s deep voice echoes in the rogue ear, mocking my failure: “Game Over”.
What will my mother say?

Preview Into Fail.
We walked home, it’s hot, and our brothers, who’ve just spent the day out of school are running around shoving ice down each other’s shirts. Looking at each other once, twice, we shriek at the chimpanzees currently slipping on the inevitable melted water on the floor. 30 seconds later, the chimpanzees have discovered the wonders of garden hoses safely locked away from the rest of civilization. She flips the television on decides that the best thing on cable is previews of old movies. We roll on the ground watching and rewatching Miley Cyrus pretend to be herself, this time with a happy end where she doesn’t end up being an insane not-so-engaged figment of the tabloids’ imagination. (I believe the movie is called LOL). Its only when my mother comes in and reminds me (again) that I remember. Neha smirks when she sees the disapproval filling the room, and quiets the anger behind my mother’s eyes by giving her a hug. I knew there was a reason I kept her around, but that doesn’t help as I glance horrified, trying to block my eyes Game Over.
Over Neha’s shoulder, my mum smiles smugly.
“I knew it,” she says.
So did I mum, so did I.

Today was supposed to be about living without, about suffering, about learning important life lessons. Instead, all I seem to have learned is the power of reflexes, the power of the well-established routine, the power of exasperating brothers and best-friends.
I could tell you about my subsequent attempts, about wondering about whether infuriating my brand-new singing teacher because I haven’t learnt the new piece (which is online) or failing, failing, failing was worse. Clearly visions of my teacher kicking me out after a mere one class and my mother weeping inconsolably in the corner solved my conundrum.
Today was supposed to be about proving that I could, in fact live without electronics, instead it turned to a day where I proved that I couldn’t. Game Over.