by Sudha Nair
Maya awoke to the sound of the faint, faraway tinkle of the morning temple bells. As she entered her kitchen, a hungry pigeon was already perched on her windowsill cooing and pecking at the glass until she sprinkled some leftover rice for it to eat. There was a soft thwack of the newspaper at her doorstep which meant that the young boy was doing the rounds today; his father was probably unwell. The persistent ringing of the bicycle bell indicated the milkman was late today and she better hurry up and bring out her pail. All the sounds around her meant something to her, lent a familiarity to the bustle around her. She could discern if her husband was tired by the gruffness in his voice, or if her mother-in-law was irritated, by the brusqueness in hers. She hated some sounds like the blaring horns outside her street and the incessant snoring of her husband all night. But she loved voices the most of all. The laughter-filled voices of her sisters and friends gave her immense joy, and the calm voice of her mother help soothe her frayed nerves.
In fact she loved voices so much she should have been working at a call-centre. Yet at forty-two, she worked in a drab accounts office, sorting through numbers and files. There was the constant whirring of the fan above her head, the hum of people walking in and out of the office, the overworked office boy’s chappals clattering as he walked from desk to desk carrying files, trays of coffee and lunches. The only voice she heard was her boss’s, asking for some clarification on numbers which didn’t tally.
She reminded herself that morning, as she fixed her morning coffee, that her kitchen needed to be fixed, wincing at the thought that she’d forgotten again to call the tile company about new flooring. The tiles looked old and boring just as she herself felt, although she was in no mood to alter the drabness and lack of vigour she felt about her life. She moved like a robot some days, cooking the same repetition of vegetables for dinner, carrying out her routine chores with the kind of listlessness that bordered on boredom.
At work that afternoon, the phone at Maya’s desk rang as usual. It was her husband, Ravi, who called every afternoon like clockwork. “What vegetables should I buy today?” he asked. He always liked to buy fresh vegetables for dinner every evening.
“Buy bhindi,” Maya said.
“Again?” he said.
“I will be making it after a whole week,” she said, a slight irritation lacing her voice.
“Oh well. Ok. Don’t forget to call the tile company though,” he said, and disconnected.
She had made a list of three numbers. She decided to get down to it immediately and dialled the first. “Hi, I’m looking for Nitco tiles for my kitchen,” she said.
“Sorry madam, we only stock Somany,” said the voice at the other end.
She had no luck with the second number either because it only kept ringing.
Someone picked up when she called the third number.
“Hello?” she said. She sensed a very slight hesitation at the other end but she could have been wrong. “Aishwarya Marbles?” she said.
A deep, throaty male voice at the other end said, “Yes.”
For a moment, she was thrown by the richness of the voice but she pulled herself back together quickly. “I’m looking for Nitco tiles for my kitchen,” she said.
“Yes madam. We have those. How can I help you?” said the sexy voice, making her go weak in the knees.
The man had the tiles she was looking for. There was also something about that voice that made her feel reassured that she would be in good hands. Her lunch break was almost over so she told him she’d call back the next day for more details.
“This is my mother’s number,” he said then, sounding sheepish. “But you can call back tomorrow and I’ll be here.”
So, she had been right about his hesitation before. Maybe he had assumed that the female caller was a friend of his mother’s. “Can I have your number so I can call you directly instead?” she said.
“Sure,” he said, giving her his number and name. Vivek.
Singing to herself as she cooked stuffed bhindi for her husband and seventeen-year-old son that evening Maya’s spirits felt slightly lifted. She was in a joyous mood. She even slept peacefully that night dreaming about her brand new kitchen tiles, never once hearing her husband’s snores all night.
During lunch break at work the next day, she dialled Vivek’s number. He seemed happy to hear from her. She told him she had seen some kitchens online and went on to discuss the look that she preferred. He replied to her queries about what colours he thought would go well together and what flooring would be best for the kitchen.
She listened intently as he spoke, each time liking the way his ‘s’es sounded when he emphasized the ending of words like “choice,” “tiles,” “taste.” Something about his tone and manner too gave her joy.
“When do you need this by?” he said.
“In a month,” she said.
A few days later Maya called Vivek again. He remembered her.
“What do you call those tiles that are laid out in between the kitchen shelves?” she asked him.
“Dado? Oh we have plenty of patterns to choose from. You should come down to the store to take a look,” he said.
“Why do they call it dado?” she said. “It almost sounds like dodo.”
He laughed.
She liked the way he laughed. She laughed back. “I’ll pick a time to come by,” she said. “Let me call you tomorrow.”
She sent a message to Vivek that night. This is Maya. Btw, I’m going out of town tomorrow. I will call you next week. She felt a slight pinch of disappointment at his terse reply. Ok.
She was going to her mother’s. The thought of leaving her husband to cook his own meals always made her uncomfortable. Neither did she like the change in her routines. But as always the weekend flew by with her counting the days when she would get back. She missed the familiar sounds of her home and especially the new voice that had been a source of delight in the last few days.
Back at work, she called Vivek again. After dialling his number, she realised she had nothing new to say. She hadn’t scheduled a date for the tiling, or chosen the colours, or picked a date to go to the store. What was she going to say to him? He picked up before she had a chance to disconnect.
“Did you have a good holiday?” he asked.
“Oh, I was visiting my mother,” she said with a laugh. “It was long overdue unless I wanted to hear a barrage of complaints.”
“Sounds like my mother although she sees me at the store every week,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
She felt a mild flutter in her chest at the turn of their conversation, but dismissed the feeling. Did a middle-aged woman feel like that? she wondered. “Look, you shouldn’t talk about your mother like that,” she said to Vivek.
“Like what? She too likes to complain is all I’m saying,” he said, laughing at his own joke like a naughty child. “Look, I’m really looking forward to your visit,” he said.
She blushed although it had been the most ordinary thing to say. It wasn’t like he was asking her on a date or something.
Two days passed and she didn’t call him. She couldn’t understand her own rampant thoughts. Did those brief fifteen minutes over the past several days now signify anything? A few times their conversation had even strayed towards casual talk. She knew his mother visited the store once every week, and cooked excellent biryani, and that it was Vivek’s favourite dish too. She couldn’t get over his voice or their afternoon tête-à-tête. There couldn’t be any harm in making a friend, could there? Or in adding a new voice to her happy voices list? But what would Ravi think? That his forty-two-year-old wife from an eighteen-year-old marriage was behaving like a silly school girl?
A week passed. She had started to pay more attention to the way she dressed now. She had even bought herself a few new saris. It had been ages since she had bothered about her appearance. Even Ravi had begun to wonder what was happening to her lately. Today she applied a little gloss on her lips, sprayed a dash of perfume under her armpits, and tied up her waist length wavy hair into a chignon.
“Are you going out today?” Ravi asked her that morning.
“No…just to office,” she said, sucking in her slight paunch as she wore her sari.
At lunch she weighed over the possibility of taking up Vivek’s proposal to go to the store. She didn’t have to. Vivek had shown her where to find the online catalogue. Ravi and she had pored over it and made a few selections. Ravi could go to the store to order and make the payments. There was no real need for her to go too except to meet Vivek. She had considered this when she was at her mother’s. She wanted to see what he looked like. Wouldn’t it feel better to put a face to a voice? In her mind he was at least in his mid-thirties with a charming smile. She wasn’t so bad herself, except she was older. But why did that matter when all she wanted was to make a new friend? Didn’t she talk to male clients sometimes? Didn’t she have a few male friends at work? Then why was she having second thoughts?
The next minute, handbag in hand, she was off hailing an auto outside her office to the Aishwarya Marbles store which was fifteen minutes away. She would make the auto wait as she made a quick drop-in at the store. Just one glimpse, she promised herself.
There was no-one but a girl at the reception. Inside, she was quite mesmerised by the rows and rows of tile displays on the walls. She heard him behind her after a minute. “May I help you, madam?” She hadn’t heard or seen him come in. From the corner of her eye, she noticed his tall and well-built frame. She turned briefly to face him, taking in his clean-shaven face and beatific smile while shaking her head no. He was gorgeous, just as she had imagined. Then she turned back quickly and made a dash out of the store, just catching the change of the expression on his face to bewilderment.
On her way back, she thought about her visit. In the end her desire had got the better of her, but the good news was that he hadn’t recognised her. She had been absolutely right about his charming face that matched his charming voice. She was not ashamed at having fulfilled her heart’s wish. The fact that he didn’t know her made it easier for her to not feel shy when she spoke to him next. She only had to make some excuse now to not go to the store.
A month passed. For Maya, life went back to the temple bells, the cooing pigeons and the snoring husband, but it was enriched by that charming voice that she sometimes called to chat with, even after her kitchen looked resplendent in its shiny new tiles.
Sudha, a mother of two, is constantly trying to pursue new avenues to push her creative boundaries. A chronic daydreamer, she is in awe of people who have followed their heart. Sudha is passionate about music, fitness, her family, and most recently, writing.
Pic : https://www.flickr.com/photos/samiksha/
