u/Electrical-Mine-3881

My mom lives alone in Delhi, I’m in Seattle for work and it’s been eating at me. She’s 68, sharp mentally, but I worry constantly. Calling her daily is something I genuinely try to do, but between work and her odd sleeping schedule, I probably manage 4-5 times a week at best.

A friend mentioned there are services now where an AI calls your parent regularly, in their language, remembers their conversations, and sends you a quick note about how they seem. Honestly my first reaction was “that sounds dystopian.” But then I thought, she talks to the TV more than she talks to people some days, so maybe?

Has anyone actually used something like this for their parents? A few things I’m genuinely unsure about:

**•**	Do elderly parents actually warm up to it, or do they reject it immediately?  
**•**	How long before it stops feeling weird to them?  
**•**	Does the AI actually remember context across calls or does she have to repeat herself every time?  
**•**	What happens if she sounds unwell, does anyone actually get notified?

Also what’s the right price point if you used this or I should be willing to pay?

Would love to hear from people who’ve been in the same boat, whether you found a solution that works or gave up on the idea entirely.

Not looking for “just call her more” answers, I know, I try. Looking for whether tech has genuinely helped anyone here.

I’m one of the founders of Aika. Aika means “to listen” in Marathi.

The premise is simple. Every AI assistant built in the last three years assumes you own a smartphone, can read English, and are willing to download something. That rules out most of the people in my own family. So we built one you reach by dialling a phone number. That’s it. A feature phone works. A landline works.

You talk to her in whatever language you’d use at home and she answers in the same one.

What she does, in practice: she’ll set reminders for you, one-off or recurring, and she’ll call you when they’re due rather than making you check anything. She’ll set them for someone else too, so you can make sure your father takes his medicine without being the one to nag him. She keeps running lists, so you say “add dhania to the grocery list” while you’re cooking and ask for the whole thing on Sunday. She’ll read you the morning news and weather on a call at whatever time you want. She’ll pass a message to someone in your family and remember who they are to you, so next time you just say “tell my sister” and she knows.

The part I care about most is that she remembers. Not the conversation you’re in, but the ones from last week. She knows your name, that your knee has been hurting, that your son is in Toronto. Most of what’s being built right now is a thin wrapper over somebody else’s model, and the model is the commodity part. The relationship isn’t.

The number is +91 11 4474 0538. Call it, talk to her the way you’d talk to a person, and tell me where she falls short. I’d rather hear that than praise.

I’m one of the founders of Aika. Aika means “to listen” in Marathi.

The premise is simple. Every AI assistant built in the last three years assumes you own a smartphone, can read English, and are willing to download something. That rules out most of the people in my own family. So we built one you reach by dialling a phone number. That’s it. A feature phone works. A landline works.

You talk to her in whatever language you’d use at home and she answers in the same one.

What she does, in practice: she’ll set reminders for you, one-off or recurring, and she’ll call you when they’re due rather than making you check anything. She’ll set them for someone else too, so you can make sure your father takes his medicine without being the one to nag him. She keeps running lists, so you say “add dhania to the grocery list” while you’re cooking and ask for the whole thing on Sunday. She’ll read you the morning news and weather on a call at whatever time you want. She’ll pass a message to someone in your family and remember who they are to you, so next time you just say “tell my sister” and she knows.

The part I care about most is that she remembers. Not the conversation you’re in, but the ones from last week. She knows your name, that your knee has been hurting, that your son is in Toronto. Most of what’s being built right now is a thin wrapper over somebody else’s model, and the model is the commodity part. The relationship isn’t.

The number is +91 11 4474 0538. Call it, talk to her the way you’d talk to a person, and tell me where she falls short. I’d rather hear that than praise.

I’m one of the founders of Aika. Aika means “to listen” in Marathi.

The premise is simple. Every AI assistant built in the last three years assumes you own a smartphone, can read English, and are willing to download something. That rules out most of the people in my own family. So we built one you reach by dialling a phone number. That’s it. A feature phone works. A landline works.

You talk to her in whatever language you’d use at home and she answers in the same one.

What she does, in practice: she’ll set reminders for you, one-off or recurring, and she’ll call you when they’re due rather than making you check anything. She’ll set them for someone else too, so you can make sure your father takes his medicine without being the one to nag him. She keeps running lists, so you say “add dhania to the grocery list” while you’re cooking and ask for the whole thing on Sunday. She’ll read you the morning news and weather on a call at whatever time you want. She’ll pass a message to someone in your family and remember who they are to you, so next time you just say “tell my sister” and she knows.

The part I care about most is that she remembers. Not the conversation you’re in, but the ones from last week. She knows your name, that your knee has been hurting, that your son is in Toronto. Most of what’s being built right now is a thin wrapper over somebody else’s model, and the model is the commodity part. The relationship isn’t.

The number is +91 11 4474 0538. Call it, talk to her the way you’d talk to a person, and tell me where she falls short. I’d rather hear that than praise.