The Voice that took my breath away...

'Meeting a Voice'

One of my most eagerly awaited and anticipated events were meeting the people (read gals) with whom I have been talking on phone, chatting, messaging, mailing or writing good old type letters or postcards (remember pen-pals of yore??). Chance meeting or planned meetings were always a thrilling experience. Well, mostly.

These were voice that belonged to receptionists, telephone operators, clients or staff of clients and a few unknowns or chance connections (hello my dear wrong number…) etc. In a way, in retrospect, the liking for each other’s voice was mutual. In fact, the whole thing revolved around that liking. Voice that we actually liked to hear, loved to hear. We found or created enough reasons to talk to each other. In a way we were in love with each others’ voice, the way we spoke and generally liked each others tele-company. As we say now, we got connected. Waiting for them to call was a daily affair and awaited with great anticipation.

There was this delightful voice I’d heard and loved immediately the very first time. This was a kind of soft sing-song voice, like a girl’s belonging to cultured family. We hit off right from the beginning. Whenever she called, we used to talk for a while before she would patch me with her boss. Many a time she would even call without reason and talk. She giggled a lot, spontaneously, and I used to love her giggles.

Meeting a few of them were well planned affairs. Such planned meetings took a lot of preparation; setting up date, time and place of meeting, the exact location I will be sitting or standing, colour and type of my attire and other general identifiable points. She, in turn, giving far less information like straight hair, a ponytail etc. A green dress (means slawaar kameej or Punjabi dress, took a bit of time before I understood that). Once I even bought a new shirt and an aftershave lotion. Getting up early on those eventful days, cleaning and polishing the shoes, ironing, trimming mustache, shaving as late as possible, like just minutes before leaving home, to look and smell fresh.

And then there were those chance meetings…

One fine evening…a few years before my marriage…

I was invited by one of my clients for the engagement ceremony of his daughter. Dressed for the occasion and being not of the family circle I parked myself at a corner, with a clear view of the entire hall filled up with about 150 guests of all ages. While the ring ceremony and other functions were in progress my eyes roved around all the girls and young ladies in the hall trying to identify that girl I used to speak to, as she had promised to be present without fail. After all it was her boss’s daughter’s engagement, how could she miss it? So I thought. Later, I even roamed around like a bee looking for flowers and nectar, went to earshot distance of girls to hear their voice and despite all my efforts I was aghast that I couldn’t recognize her or her voice. Finally, I gave up presuming she wasn’t present there for some reason.

After the function ended, I found myself at the end of the guest line waiting my turn to congratulate the family and the couple. My client stood with his wife and their daughter and the groom to be, in the traditional style, the girl on the right of the boy.

As my turn came, I dusted my nose, cheeks and forehead, pasted my patent smile on my face and proceeded to first congratulate my client, shook his hand and...

I heard someone say " Ken ??"

The voice, that telephone voice, suddenly hit me. It came from very near. I looked behind my client, no one. While he was introducing his wife and, as is usual with me, brought my palms together for a respectful namaste to Mrs. Client, my attention was elsewhere, trying to locate that voice. And I heard it again. "Ken, Hi !!! "

It hit me hard, as if a block of cement had fallen on my head, the young girl's voice I’ve been so enamored with, was standing right there, in front of me but…

It belonged to Mrs. Client.

“I thought you sounded much older Ken" said she in her young sing-song voice.

I couldn’t dare to say... ‘And you sounded much much younger ma’am’

lest I offend her, because… because??

Mrs. Client, that young sing-song voice girl, was over a dozen years older than me.

__ Ken Featherlite__