The Voice

Wonder what was it about the voice that attracted him so. To most others, it was just something that they heard everyday. Nothing special, right? A mere whisper in the everyday noise and chaos. Yet, each morning, he woke up only to discover that he had been dreaming, of THE voice. Sweet, yet not saccharine. Husky,but not masculine. Slightly raised to be heard, but never too loud. If he had some extra time in the morning, he gave the voice a form and some clothes- Not too tall and a round face, wearing a green silk shirt and cream coloured trousers with brown heels. And yes, pearl studs for the ears.
It was strange, considering that he was thirty-four and had been in no serious relationship so far.He found most women boring and their talk insipid. Clothes, make-up, cleaning.. what else do women talk about anyway? He was not a chauvinist, it was the just the way he felt about things.
He hurried through his breakfast, gulping his toast, washing it down with hot tea. His tie was askew and his laces were untied. His mind, well, we know by now, was dreaming about the softness and timbre of the voice. In another fifteen minutes, he would walk to the bus-stop at the end of the road and get on. Once on the bus, his daily rendezvous would begin. The voice never told him much.Just the usual, here and there, now and then kind of stories.
Sometimes, when the testosterone levels in his blood were high, he would want to meet the voice. She never refused, for he had never asked. How could he, it was practically impossible. He often felt to be the most unlucky man on earth. Here he was, completely, madly in love.. but with no way, either in or out of it. Strange predicament, don’t you think?
His days were filled with dreams and at nights, like most men, he made love, to the voice. He had reconciled himself to the fact that he might never actually go out with the Voice or even hug her in person, let alone share a kiss. It was a divine love, he reasoned, with no trace of physicality involved. (Just pretend that I did not tell you about his dreams, okay? He is quite sensitive.)
His days were punctuated by the voice. Friends often teased him about it. He did not mind, not many understand true love. A love that he would carry with him until his grave. For voices do not go out with you to the restaurant, nor do they get married to you, in a white gown and a golden tiara. He was indeed a sad man. He must have been truly sincere, for which man loves a voice with such passion? Most men would need a model’s body to dream about while making love, and here he was, completely faithful to a voice.

His parents found the entire idea ridiculous. They tried to reason with him.”Son, no man falls in love with a voice.You must get over it now and get married to a real woman. Pretty, intelligent and who is of real flesh and blood!”
They met with an obstinate refusal of their request. Well-wishers tried to get him drunk at the local bar and then screamed into his ears, “Get married now!” He puked on them and came home as obstinate as before. Doctors prescribed medicines to alter his mind and change his thinking. He spit the pills to save them in a velvet-lined chest in his drawer and dozed through the sessions with shrinks. What do shrinks do in any case, other than putting you to sleep? Things came to quite a stand-still until a beautiful female cousin called him and planted a beautiful idea into his head: ” What if the girl you marry IS the voice that you are in love with?” The parents wasted no minute after this. He was married to the first girl they could find.
For the first month after the wedding, he asked the girl not to say a word. He did not want his dreams shattered so early in life. The girl, perplexed at this whole drama called her life, finally blurted out, ” What’s wrong with you? Do you not love me?”
It was NOT the voice. All his hopes, flushed down the drain. He wept like a child, fallen to a heap on the floor. Gently, the girl, the new bride put his arm around him and asked, ” Were you in love with someone else? You can tell me, I understand.”
Snuggling up to her bosom, he started to talk, hesitantly..” Yes.. I still am..”
“Who is it, ” she asked. She was hurt with the candid display of vulgarly extreme love, but was determined to be kind.
“It is a voice.”
“A voice?”
“Yes. It is the voice of the woman who announces the names of bus-stops. Route Number 324. 8:25 AM. ”
Poor girl, she laughed for a full fifteen minutes after that. Like I told you, the man is quite sensitive. He has asked her to go back to her apartment and never come back. He also refused her a divorce, saying that he still doesn’t know if she can be THE voice he loves, for voices can and do change over the years.
I do not know if it is normal or not for a woman to voice her concerns so openly, but I need help.
Two months ago, I married this man.


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