Only when competition arrives does a cable company come to its senses and realize what the customer is all about
About two years ago in F-8 Markaz, I spied a long, white banner boasting the words ‘Cable TV coming soon to F-8’. Cable TV in Islamabad, the land of the dead and retired? I couldn’t believe my eyes! Battling cynicism, I stuck my head through the shop door and asked them for verification. I filled out a ridiculously detailed form and was told to look forward to 50 ‘unique’ TV channels in about two weeks’ time.
The two weeks came and went, and I still had no letter asking for payment, nor anyone rapping at my door to install the necessary cable.
Back at the shop, I was promised the service in another two weeks. This dawdling went on for yet another two weeks, when I was finally informed that the delay had been in getting permission from the CDA to commence the venture. But now they had it. There was, as always, one snag. The cable company, out to save some cash, wanted to use over-ground cable. The CDA, out to save the skyline, insisted on the use of underground cables. The initiation of a bloody battle between the two carried my calendar several weeks into the future.
Naturally the CDA won, and the cable company, with a baleful expression and malevolent over-the-shoulder gaze, began digging.
A month later, I noticed the digging had reached my street. Overjoyed, I followed the straight, narrow ditch to the neighbour’s house. It was another 10 days or so before the ditch extended that last few painful feet to reach my driveway. I immediately made the Rs2,000 down payment. Three phone calls and two days later, two young men came and installed the wiring. They flicked through a few channels to show me it worked, then left with a rather hefty tip. Only then did I realize that I was getting no more than 10 channels.
Angrily, I dialled the phone number now committed to memory, and proceeded to bite the manager’s head off. It worked, because the very next day, the same two appeared with a contraption they called a Magic Box. They connected it and counted the channels for me. There were 50, three of them were PTV I, two were Star Gold and two were ARY Digital. There were several others that made multiple appearances, but I stayed mum.
Two years later, when I had finally mastered the use of my VCR, did I find out I never really needed the Magic Box because my VCR could have done the same job for free. I am, to this day, fairly certain that the two men who set up the system knew fully well that I didn’t need the Rs3,000 Magic Box.
I took it upon myself to ensure the television was removed from my parent’s monopolistic clutches (i.e. their room) to more neutral ground. The guest room was the best I could do, because everyone insisted my previous suggestion of moving it to my room was hypocritical. However, I wasn’t too upset because guests were a rarity.
The guest room was the single most unfriendly, unwelcoming room I had ever stepped into. I’m sorry, but bright bed covers and family portraits do not make a happy room. As far as I was concerned, the room was -10 on the ‘welcome’ scale. But the day the TV was wheeled into it, the room instantly metamorphosed. The room and the TV brought my whole family together. Coming home in the evening, no one went to their respective rooms without popping into the guest room for at least 10 minutes if not more. In my household, no one eats breakfast or lunch, and dinner is usually a solitary affair, everyone eating as and when they please. The TV and guest room changed our habits, as we began, more than ever before, to be in the same room for a common purpose.
Enjoying my new TV experience immensely, I took my role as official family couch potato very seriously, severely reprimanding anyone attempting to switch channels in my presence without my explicit consent. I watched everything from Courage the Cowardly Dog to Jutt & Bond, religiously.
There remained, however, the one inevitable glitch that bothered everyone a great deal, and again brought the family together to collectively swear at the cable company. The service was prone to highly erratic behaviour, constantly switching between HBO and blank screens accompanied by an uncomfortable and often eerie silence. Just when it seemed Courage had screamed hysterically for the last time, the screen would go blank, leaving me and every other F-8 resident with an empty feeling in the stomach, not to mention thoroughly disgruntled.
When telephonic complaints made no noteworthy impact, I decided to make myself be heard in person. I went back to the store from where I was directed to the head office.
After wandering around four plazas like a lost sheep, I stumbled into the one I would be seeing a great deal of in the future. I found it shockingly reminiscent of a garbage dump. Right before my eyes was the filthiest, most disgraceful and appalling set of stairs I have ever ascended.
As I walked up the staircase, foul smells forced their way into my nostrils, making me reconsider using the telephone. On my reaching the office, the manager received me with the utmost courtesy and seemed to take an active interest in my dilemma. He assured me there would be sweeping changes that would bring back the missing channels. This time, I was sure I had made some difference. The next few days would prove me wrong as the blank screens began to resemble an ugly habit. The point here is that competition is not to be scoffed at. In fact, I am one hundred per cent certain every resident of F-8 is losing his or her mind anticipating the arrival of that very competition. Only when it arrives will the present monopolistic cable company come to its senses and finally realize what is meant by ‘the customer is always right’. At the moment, they really don’t care who’s right, so long as their customers keep paying their dues.
Only when competition arrives does a cable company come to its senses and realize what the customer is all about 
