The First Hello The man from the telephone department got off the bus, and made his way to the tea stall, wiping the sweat off his head, face, then slipping his handkerchief under his shirt to wipe his neck and back. It was a year ago that the phone line had been installed, six months later men from the public works department had come to put up the phone booth -- a neat box-like structure, with a glass window, and wooden ledges, yellow in colour. And days after that, a painter had taken an entire day to colour in broad, black brushstrokes, the words: STD Booth, local and STD allowded. No one could tell that the last word had been misspelled. Besides, he had taken the entire day. After he had a cup of tea, he had left, waving cheerfully. And now months later, someone else was here again.  Everyone watched the man as he sat on the bench. No one said a word, and soon the sound of him slurping his tea filled the hot afternoon. A few leaves fell, heavy in the heat, and sometimes a car passed, on its way to the main city farther away. When the man had finished, he made to pay but the tea shop owner who sat behind his steaming kettle and the washed upturned cups, waved him away. "You are our guest here." So the man took his handkerchief out again and wiped his face. They crowded around him as he shut himself up in the phone booth. When the children pressed their nose against the glass, he shooed them away, as he took out a shiny black instrument and placed it on the narrow shelf. A sigh of satisfaction passed through everyone that soon changed to an excited yell as they saw him dial a number, pressing a finger into the ringed dialer of the phone and letting it go all the way in a half-circle. A while later, they hear him say into the mouthpiece, "Hello."  "Hello, " the children around the booth took up the cry, the teashop owner broke into a smile and the men waiting for a bus smiled and said hello to each other. The sadhu  who sat under the banyan tree nodded wisely. As the sound carried, more hellos were heard. The women winnowing grain giggled as they tried the word tentatively, the shepherds feeding their flocks called out to their sheep, laughing as they used the word.  "It's a big occasion," said the headman, in an awed voice. "It is, " agreed those around him. The telephone man emerged and handed over a small chit of paper to the headman. "This is the telephone number." The headman looked at it reverently as if it were a mantra . The others around him read out the numbers slowly, digit-by-digit. The telephone man was now too tired to notice the cheering around him. He knew he had to wait long before the bus to take him back arrived. As he sipped his second cup of tea, he remembered something else. "Oh, you can't start using the phone now. The minister will come next month and inaugurate it." No one said a word. No one was surprised. They had waited so long; a month more did not really matter. When the man from the telephone department arrived,   _  .
the hot afternoon was filled with quiet expectation there was a sudden rush of activity in the village he was greeted like a regular customer he learned about the village while having a nice drink