Virtual Dinner Talk...

A recent Singapore study found that children using smartphones and tablets are prone to tempter tantrums and bad posture.

I didn't need scientists to tell me that high-tech e- devices destroy emotional and social intelligence. An average meal with my tech-savvy family quickly shows why the world should rage against the machine.

I miss the good old days when diners brought only themselves to the table. Nowadays, they arrive with one or more electronic appendages, eyes glued to the screen rather than whatever spread the chef of the day has decided to present. My mother is the worst offender, even on days when she cooks.

It is only when someone (usually me) complains: 'It's getting cold!' that the diners grunt, sending a final few messages before placing their smartphones down with the attitude of a gunslinger setting his weapon aside in hostile territory.

It takes a while for the glaze to dissipate from their eyes and the brain to switch from virtual social-networking mode to real-time socialising (also known as conversation).

Yet, it will inevitably be only a few seconds before one or more phones let out a buzz or chirp. All grab their devices to check who has been so summoned and - regardless of who really got that text or Facebook like or advertisement for making $$$ in your spare time - transform instantly into a hunched-over Medusa-stunned statue, motionless except for rapidly moving eyes and fingers.

The device-less diners (usually me) take a deep breath and count to 30. Twice.

'Pass the salt.' I say.

'Mmm.'

'Your sleeve is in the soup.'

'Mmm.'

'Aren't you done yet? It's rude to use your phone at the table.'

'Mmm? But it's work / your aunt / someone with the same name as your uncle's old school friend / a wrong number that I think I recognise.' comes the reply in tones of sweet reasonableness.

'Do you absolutely have to respond now or can it wait the 20 minutes until we finish dinner?'

'Mmm.' The offender completes his or her message and finally looks up - only to grab the phone again within seconds. 'Oh look, they responded so quickly. It would be rude not to reply as fast.'

Once upon a time, my family had an iron-clad rule against bringing books to the table. Avid readers all, we fell so deeply into the stories that we forgot to have conversations. And our sleeves kept getting wet with curry.

For similar reasons, when I was growing up, we rarely watched TV with dinner. We sat around the dining table talking, or quarrelling, or playing singing games until late at night.

Smartphones and tablets have somehow slipped past these rules. Some friends think this is because smart devices may aid conversation. Forgot the name of the city you went to on holiday? A quick search of Google Maps will reveal which of three possible places it could be. Want to recommend a good book or movie? Show the Amazon ranking or play a trailer on YouTube.

These same friends believe that quality time means meeting up in a big gang at restaurants, where we each quietly bend over individual devices and play networked games. 'The conversation hasn't stopped, it's just moved online,' is the excuse.

Mmm. Am I alone then in believing that conversation is about more than exchanging words, it is about reading body language and exchanging those subtle, inaudible physical signals which reassure companions that they are noticed, valued and even loved?

A common sight at restaurants these days is a family of four all glued to their devices. I wonder whether these parents have estimated the possible cost of such peace and quiet at the dinner table. These are the situations in which children learn to hold conversations with their elders - at least, I did - and are quietly reassured that their woes will find a listening ear within the family.

I have no objections to smartphones and tablets making their appearance during business meetings. In many cases, these devices are absolutely necessary. Sales staff pitching a new product or story might need to show a presentation, or, during an internal meeting, staff might need online research tools to quickly unearth pertinent contributions.

Yet a geek friend of mine made a telling point recently. Her job is after-sales care for high-tech software of the sort that is used only by other geeks in equally technical professions. Since the software is often upgraded, her company has been trying for a while to convince users in Asia to subscrive to free online post-upgrade tutorials, which staff conduct in person via a video network connection. But oddly, their custonmers, all erudite e-device users, would rather pay for my friend and her colleagues to show up in person and teach. When it comes to truly important discussions, it seems nothing reassures like face-to-face interaction.

Indeed, I have noticed that when work-related meetings reach a crucial moment, devices are absent or even ostentatiously stowed away. The absence of these devices is telling: It sends the strongest of signals that right here, right now, nothing is more important than focusing on the physical presence of the person to be appeased.

When friends and loved ones whip out their smartphones and tablets, the signal given consciously or unconsciously is that the bodies around them no longer matter. Even if it is for only one second, it is a second that can communicate a world of hurt.

Increasingly, I feel isolated even when surrounded by friendly faces. Each is in his own little online world sending smileys to strangers while I wait for eye contact and a grin.

It reminds me of an advertisement I once saw, exhorting people to put their mobile devices away and interact with friends and family instead. The almost silent fottage showed people gazing intently at tablets and smartphones, while next to them, their parents, children and lovers turned invisible.

When I told an offending friend this over coffee, she was silent for a while. 'It sounds intense,' she said finally. 'You should share that video. I bet I can find it online,' she added, hunching immediately over her smartphone.

On the plus side, she didn't notice as I ate all her cake. There are a few perks to being invisible.

- By [Akshita Nanda], taken from [SundayLife!], 16 Jun 2013