There were three girls, two seated next to each other and talking in whispers and completely cut off from the rest of the group, who wouldn't have noticed them anyway, so caught up were they in their own worlds. The boys, seated across each other, spent the entire lunch hour receiving and sending texts, or viewing music videos, or whatever it is people do with their mobile phones when they're not speaking into them. Not once did they look up from those tiny screens, not once did they address each other or anyone else. The third girl, in a corner, made up for their lack of oratorical function by speaking the entire afternoon into the phone. Earphones plugged in, she talked nonstop into a mic, miming gestures throughout. No one thought its strange that five friends should sit at a table for lunch without regard for basic social etiquette. A waiter served them their meal - perhaps they had pre-ordered it, maybe it was digitally requested, or they might have been regulars with a preset menu.
If the cafe table was not their meeting point for a social chat, the young don't seem to mind the absence of social chitchat as part of any essential decorum. Why spend an hour or two being hypocritical when you could use it for gossip, education or entertainment without causing offence to the other? A camaraderie without companionship opened up endless possibilities. Imagine happy hours at a bar spent in company but without exchanging anything more than mandatory greetings. It even had a certain appeal, so long as nobody suffered from bad breath or body odour.
Actually, the malaise is more widespread than one might at first imagine. At a series of wedding functions recently, it was difficult to escape from the overwhelming sense that guests appeared to spend the entire evening texting those who were probably elsewhere. Whether queueing up to shake the bridegroom's paw, or for dinner, everyone seemed beatifically drawn to their mobiles. Not wanting to feel left out, I was glad when a message pinged on to my mobile as I stood in a line for a drink. "I'll have a strawberry daiquiri," my wife had messaged, "and organise an LIT for Sarla, and a mojito for Bebe." "Okay," I texted back, "but let me check with the bartender first," having observed the manner of these things from the cafe waitress. Any wonder they all had to settle for malts on the rock?