Wrong Number

It was one of those lazy Sunday mornings. Almost routine now, for the past 4 years, I am thoroughly used to a nice, long Saturday-night slumber. The troubles, the worries, the exhaustion of the entire week are promptly buried under the blankets when I hit the sack on a Saturday night. Now, if only the telephone would let me do that!

As I crept into bed yesterday night, I was pondering over the week that was. The ups, the downs, the tasks done, the tasks pending, the new friends I made, and the old ones I met. I have never needed to count sheep to get myself to sleep - once I get into bed, the next thing I know is morning. I was awoken rudely from my almost-comatose state by the phone ringing. I figured that it must have been ringing for almost half a minute before it woke me up, and it took me some time to realize what was going on. As I rubbed my eyes and stumbled towards the handset, I bumped into the side of the bed and clasped my knee with a loud "Aaahhh." What a way to start the morning! Talk about getting up on the wrong side of the bed; maybe this was how the clichéd term came about.

The phone was still ringing. As I picked it up, a voice said, "Hello, Aditya, you haven't called home in so many days! How are you? How is ..."

"Hello ..." I interrupted. "Aunty, I think you have dialed the wrong number, this is not Aditya."

That was it. I really didn't like people who dial phone numbers without any thought and call up the wrong guy. And it gets even more irritating when it's 7 o'clock on a Sunday morning. It's the one day I get to relax, and the last thing I need is a wrong number call to wake me up.

"Oh Aditya, I can recognize your voice, come on! Don't try to fool me." she continued. "You didn't call me all through last week - so I called you today."

"But Aunty..." I tried to break her flow again, "my name is Manas, not Aditya. I'm sure you've got the wrong number." Heck, I was wondering, that if I had picked up the phone in such deep sleep, there was more than a fair chance that Aunty had dialed the number in her sleep too. This conversation had awoken my mother and she was right beside me, asking me who it was. I mimed to her that it was just another wrong number.

"No, Aditya, I'm sure it's you. How're you? How is your new job? You know, it was really sad that you had to move to Bombay to join that company." Oh my God, I thought, she was calling long distance. I tried to convince her again that it was not me that she wanted to speak to.

But she had made up her mind that I was her son, and I couldn't find any way to convince her otherwise. I clasped one hand around the receiver, and told my mother what was happening. Meanwhile, Aunty continued, "Papa and I were planning to come over the next weekend; I hope you don't have any projects at that time, so you can spend some time with us. It is Diwali time, and since your boss won't let you come home, we'll do the traveling."

"I just spoke to your sister, she tells me she won't come. Namita is too busy attending to the household and she has her job too. Her kids have a vacation, and I'm sure they'll be running riot all over the place. I sometimes wonder how Namita & Sameer manage to keep their cool. But anyway, the point is that she won't come, so it'll be only Papa and I who will be coming over. I hope you don't mind?"

"Yes, I mean, No..." I stammered. I was still wondering how to tell her I wasn't Aditya. I did not have a sister, let alone one named Namita. But now, I had given up hope and decided to carry on with whatever she said, interspersing her monologue with an occasional yes or a no. "I have made lots of mithai, I'll get it all for you. I remember last year, when you were in Poona with us at your old job. I still don't understand why you had to leave that job and settle in Bombay. Maybe it was the charm of the city, as they say. So often, I feel you are almost here, in the next room, and then I realize it's been six months since you now stay at Bombay. Namita & Papa are feeling bad too; we're all so used to seeing you around!"

"I just met Salil the other day; he was speaking to me for about 15 minutes, right in front of our house. You two were the best of friends right since school, through college, ..."

"I ..."

"Never mind, the next time you come to Poona, be sure to meet him. Let's invite him home so we can meet him too. And nowadays, Papa comes home from office early too. He no longer works overtime the way he used to before. He says there are quite a few younger people who sit late in the office, and in any case, he says he can't concentrate on the job as much. Looks like age is taking its toll on him! He had been a little ill last week, with a slight fever and the 'flu. But now he's all right. Do you want to speak to him?"

By now, I was thoroughly beginning to believe I was Aditya, so I just managed to say, "OK."

I felt an elderly man clearing his throat. His voice sounded very gloomy. "Thank you for talking to my wife so patiently," he began. I didn't know what to say. I could hear him as if he had been weeping profusely. I heard a muffled sound next, "Will you get me a cup of tea, please?" That must've been for Aunty, I figured.

He cleared his throat, then began, "We all miss Aditya so much, but she — she's not been able to take the shock."

"What?" I couldn't believe it.

"Yes, son," he continued, "Aditya — we lost him in an accident 6 months ago. He was traveling to see us from Bombay to Poona, when a drunk driver lost control of his truck and rammed into his bike."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.