My Voice

I don’t know why people should stop recognizing me but recognize my voice perfectly. I don’t talk so much, and my voice is not like that of the Big B. The first incident I want to write about took place yesterday while I was sitting at the computer of our typist, making a complex word document with photos of our department in it. The phone rang. Since I had driven the typist away from her workstation, I picked up the phone myself. There was no point in letting it ring next to my elbow waiting for her or anyone else to come to answer it. “Hello, is that Gynec office?” enquired a woman’s voice. “Yes, it is” I said. “Is anybody there?” she asked. I looked behind me and saw that all of the three clerical people were there, and so were two servants and one staff member. “We have lots of people here” I said “whom do you want please?” “Oh, that is you, Sir!” she said. I am Dr. XXX XXX from XXX department.” Wondering how she managed to recognize me, I asked her what she wanted and answered all her questions to her satisfaction before putting the phone down. The other story is even more weird. I was going home after a day’s work, reasonably tired. I take a bus home, because I want to use public transport to save fuel for the future generations (my son is the next generation, along with a lot of others). The bus company (BEST) has recently reserved ten seats for women (originally it was only six) and four for senior citizens on each bus. I reached the seats for the senior citizens and found a vacant one. Since there were no really senior ones (65 and above) around, I sat down in that seat. The bus filled up. People stood in two rows between the two rows of seats. There was a young fellow next to me, pushing my arm with his lower tummy and pelvis. There was a girl just ahead of him. They were discussing animatedly about merit lists and such, which drew my attention to them. I had not seen the fellow before, but the girl had been my student a year or two ago. She either did not notice me or did not recognize me. The bus kept moving rather erratically, braking abruptly periodically, accompanied by an “Ouch” by the girl once, and a “Shit!” by her some time later. After some time, she said to the fellow, “We should tell him to surrender the seat to me.” He murmured somehing, which I missed. “You tell him” she urged. He murmured something, probably asking her to say whatever she wanted to say herself. I looked up and found her looking at me. When she knew she had drawn my attention, she pointely looked at the word “Women” stencilled just above the window where I sat. The implication was that the seat was reserved for women and I should give it to her. “The seat is reserved for senior citizens” I said, looking steadily at her. There was a picture of two old men next to the seat, for people who could read only signs. “The word ‘women’ is left there by mistake by BEST, when they reallotted the seats. It is stencilled on the back of the seat that it is for senior citizens too.” She seemed shaken. After a couple of seconds she said “Sir, if you call yourself a senior citizen, what will happen to us?” “Do you mean to say you are more senior than I?” I asked politely. I knew she had recognized me by then. No one her age calls someone ‘sir’ around here unless that person is her teacher. “No sir” she said, “what I mean is that you are so young!” “No, I am not young” I said firmly “I am old”. I knew she was trying flattery, because no one in her or his right senses would have called me young, with my white hair and all. She smiled. The fellow moved away from me by a respectful six inches, no mean feat in that overcrowded bus. He maintained that distance until they got down from the bus. When they were ready to get down, she turned to me, waved a stylish hand and said sweetly “bye, Sir”. He followed her without even looking at me. When I narrated the story to my wife and wondered how did they recognize my voice, one on phone and the other in person without recognizing my face which has not changed in the last twenty years, she said: “The first one probably recognized you because of your sarcasm and because it was your departmental office. The other one did not recognize your face because you were not wearing your trademark OT scrub suit and apron that you wear constantly in the hospital, but street clothes. She recognized you when you spoke probably because of whatever you said and the way you said it. There must not be anyone else with the content and style of speech like yours.” I did not know whether to feel flattered or hurt. But then she smiled and I decided to feel flattered.