There is an expiry date on everything, including devices, equipment, accessories…just about everything. In the evolutionary transition of life and things, it is inevitable to outgrow essential comforts.

Like the quintessential phone booth.

Once an inherent part of the public space, these ubiquitous structures have all but vanished, with the lone (or more), unmoved booth, creating a déjà vu amongst folks who have relied on its scope and reach in the not so long past. Whether it was to stay connected with friends in the local neighbourhood and outside or contact families in countries far and beyond, the phone booth was a landmark, a bridge that connected people.

Those little boxes, perched on sturdy iron posts (or placed as rectangle receptacles), have been witness to secrets, tragedies, fights, love stories, everyday tales, happy moments, even silences when words fail the two on either side of the line.

Those conversations, the bickerings, the casual chats, even profound discussions, have long been silenced by the tides of change.  The booths look forlornly at life passing by – as bystanders of a bygone era. The constantly changing telecommunications horizon adding to the inertia that has set it.

In the evolutionary circuit of things, people have outgrown those earlier emotional bonds with quaint phone booths and prepaid calling cards.

A Walk Down The Telephone Booth Lane

In the bustling streets of Oman, where modernity intertwines with tradition, one can trace back to those earlier days and experience a sense of nostalgia lingering in the air.

According to online sources, Omantel had installed 6,850 payphones in the country in the 70s, with Muscat getting a staggering share of 55 percent. These were communication hubs, placed at key locations like the airport, bus station, and corniche; the calling cards in denominations starting from RO 1 served as lifelines to loved ones abroad.

It was common to see long queues in front of these phone booths, more so during weekends, which then was observed on Thursdays and Fridays.

For expatriates who made Oman their home decades ago, these landmarks and the colourful plastic cards were bridges, connecting them to loved ones thousands of miles away. In an era before smartphones and instant messaging apps dominated communication, phone cards were the gateway to hear a familiar voice, share laughter, and offer comfort across borders.

Ahmed, a long-time resident of Muscat, fondly recalls his reliance on phone cards to stay in touch with his family in Bangladesh. “Every weekend, I would rush to the nearest store to buy a phone card,” he reminisces, a hint of longing in his voice. “It was our lifeline, our connection to home.”

For another expatriate, Sheela, who hails from India, the nostalgia surrounding phone cards is palpable. “I remember the excitement of receiving a phone card from a friend or relative back home,” she shares, with a smile on her lips. “I loved to collect them…and to me it was more than just a piece of plastic; it was a symbol of connection and love,” she adds

Omar, a Yemeni expat who arrived in Oman in the 1990s, refers to the telephone card as a lifeline. “Back then, a RO10 card felt like a fortune, but it meant a conversation with my family, a chance to hear their voices,” he says.

The nostalgia extends beyond expatriates. Omanis too used these payphones for international calls. Mohamed Raisi recalls using a CBD payphone to stay connected with his family who had traveled to India for treatment.

Once a staple at every convenience store and corner shop, phone cards have vanished from Oman’s bustling marketplaces. With the advent of mobile technology and the widespread availability of internet-based communication, their demand dwindled, leading to their gradual disappearance from the shelves.

But for a section of the society, these phone cards still hold a special place in their hearts. Some have converted them as vintage collectibles, saving them in albums that allow them to go back in time and savour those easy, slow-paced days. They serve as a reminder of a simpler time, when communication held a deeper value. As Sharif puts it, “Those cards were more than just plastic; they were threads that stitched families together, one call at a time.”

Interestingly, some of these cards conveyed public welfare messages, while others showcased Oman’s heritage, culture and tourism,

Silence of the Phone Booths

While the phone booths (the ones remaining in the city) stay muted and cards become distant, the memories they hold remain vivid. The crinkling sound as you peeled off the scratchy pin, the nervous anticipation before dialing, the crackle of the connection, and finally, the warmth of a familiar voice. These were the rituals that connected families, a testament to human resilience in the face of physical distance.

In a rapidly evolving world, where technology reshapes the way we communicate, the nostalgia surrounding phone booths and cards serves as a poignant reminder of the enduring power of human connection.