On National Technology Day, our member Mr N. Sengupta reflected on the remarkable transformation technology has brought to our lives. He weighs the gains and the losses of our fast-changing world.

Technology has become an inseparable part of our lives. Its rapid strides have rendered an entire way of life obsolete and ushered in a new one. While I welcome this change, I sometimes feel we’ve grown too dependent on it.
Take smartphones, for instance—they’ve become our world. If I misplace mine, it feels like part of my life is unravelling elsewhere. In the days of the landline, there wasn’t as much anxiety. Few homes had telephones in the 1980s. I had one at my office desk, but we installed a landline at home only in 1993. Until then, most of our correspondence happened through postcards and inland letters. It was a habit of mine to check the letterbox whenever I entered or left the house. We don’t even have letterboxes anymore!
There was a sweet anticipation in waiting for letters—to wait for the postman, to open an envelope or inland letter, and read the contents inside. Every sender’s handwriting had a unique style, almost like a voice. One glance at the handwriting, and we knew who it was from. That personal touch deepened the connection in a way today’s messages rarely do. Sure, we now wake up to ‘Good Morning’ messages on WhatsApp, but they lack the intimacy of something painstakingly written by hand.
I remember smartphones entering our lives in the early 2000s. Their arrival changed everything. I first bought one for my daughter when she was in university—and it was she who taught me how to use mine.
Smartphones have certainly made life more convenient, but they’ve also made us less self-reliant. Thanks to Google Maps, we no longer get lost—but there was a time we could navigate an entire city by memory. Technology has changed even our relationship with the cities we live in.
Banking, too, has been transformed. I no longer have a personal relationship with my banker! Still, I understand that technology has made their jobs easier. Gone are the days of manually filling ledger books, a tiring task by any standard. As customers, we’ve benefited too—ATMs have replaced long queues at the teller’s window.
As much as I miss aspects of the old world, I know it’s fruitless to cling to the past. The internet has permanently changed our lives, and I don’t expect to receive handwritten letters anytime soon! But I believe it’s important for us to walk in step with these changes—and make the most of them.

(As narrated to Support Elders by our member)

Our member Mr. K. Kr Datta reminisces about a final journey with his beloved wife—a trip to the UK and Ireland, through memories of long walks in Dublin’s green parks and a magical evening on the Thames.

Just before my wife left us for her heavenly abode, I had the good fortune of travelling with her to the UK and Ireland. Our son, who lives in Dublin with his wife, flew us down to last September. On that trip, we visited London, Edinburgh, and of course, Ireland.
The weather was extremely pleasant—we caught the fag end of summer. Dublin was green and beautiful. The balmy evenings were perfect for long walks through the city’s many parks. It isn’t dusty or polluted, nor are there bothersome insects, so it really is possible to just walk for hours. The city is dotted with so many green spaces, it often felt like we were strolling through a wooded countryside.
London, though, was exceptional. We landed at Luton airport and took a taxi to a homestay near the historic Lord’s cricket ground—the very spot where Sourav Ganguly famously waved his jersey from the balcony. I took a walk around the stadium, soaking in the history and energy of the place.
My wife was vegetarian, and it was a bit of a challenge to find food for her. We ended up cooking many of our meals in the kitchen of our homestay, and on other occasions, we searched out places that offered vegetarian options. One day, we visited “Chourangi”, a well-known eatery near Oxford Circus. The restaurant’s theme was Kolkata nostalgia, with photographs of Pather Panchali and Durga Puja adorning the walls. Though many of the waiters were Bengali, none of them were speaking the language. One of them noticed our hesitation over the menu. He came up to us and spoke gently to my wife in Bengali, calling her kakima (aunty). He suggested dishes for us, and they even prepared a meal for her without onion and garlic. It was such a kind and thoughtful gesture—it meant the world to us.
One of the most unforgettable parts of our trip was crossing the Thames. We walked across London Bridge, took a ride on the London Eye, and enjoyed a spectacular aerial view of the city. Then we boarded a cruise on the river. There was a band playing live music on board and snacks being served. As evening fell, the city came alive—the setting sun bouncing off the glass facades of the skyscrapers, shimmering orange and red on the river’s surface. Slowly the lights of the city came on. There is something magical about a city as it wakes up with the fall of darkness. While in Dublin, our son suggested that we travel to Switzerland next. But that journey never happened. Soon after we returned to India, my wife passed away.
I may no longer be able to travel with her, but I carry with me the memory of that cruise down the Thames—the warmth of the sunset, the gleaming river, the laughter in the air, and the lights of London shining down on us both.

(As narrated to Support Elders by our member)