cool_techie_tvm
Ambassador of Buzz
Came across this article in a blog... Read the experience of that man and post in your views...who is right and/or wrong?? The husband?? The wife?? Listenup, its going to take sometime, because its a long story, so delve into this story only if u got spare time.
The moment I saw the telephone booth I decided to ring up my wife in Pune. I wish I hadn’t. But then you wouldn’t be reading this story. At that precise point of time I should have been just out of Mumbai harbour, sailing on the high seas, but my ship’s departure was suddenly postponed by a day as some cargo documents were not in order and whilst the ship-chandlers and agents were on the job, obtaining the necessary clearances, I decided to see a movie at the Regal cinema and then kill time window-shopping on Colaba Causeway.
Having enjoyed the afternoon show, I was lazily strolling down Colaba Causeway when I saw the telephone booth. I wasn’t carrying my cell-phone – never do when sailing. I looked at my watch: 6.45PM.
Priya, my wife, should be home in Pune by now. I dialed our home number. The phone at the other end started ringing. Five rings. No one picked up. Ten rings. Twenty. And suddenly it cut-off. I tried again. No one picked up. I tried her cell-phone – ten rings, cut-off, she didn’t answer.
Walking towards Marine Drive, I wondered why Priya was late coming home. Her office finished at five, and it was just half-an-hour’s scooter drive to our home. Priya was always home by 6 PM. 6.15 at the most!
I looked at my watch: 7.15PM. Suddenly I spotted another phone booth. There was a proliferation of these nowadays. I went in and dialed. No reply. I dialed again and again. Our home landline number, her mobile number. I must have dialed both numbers at least ten times and every time the story was the same – ten rings and cut off.
As I walked by the sea in the enveloping darkness, strange thoughts began entering my brain. Maybe Priya had an accident. I wished I had never bought her that scooter. It was so dangerous driving a two-wheeler in the chaotic evening traffic of Pune. And Priya’s driving was so rash. I had warned her so many times about her reckless driving. But she just wouldn’t listen. Stubborn! That’s what she was. Like she insisted on buying the latest two-wheeler model with powerful pick-up, so she could zip around town. I’d suggested she use the car, but she said it was impossible for her to drive a car in the frenzied traffic on the narrow roads of Pune. And, of course, she was tired of traveling by bus. Besides it was below her dignity.
At first I was angry with her; then gradually my anger turned to anxiety. An accident? A distinct possibility. Maybe I was imagining things. Getting worried for nothing. Priya must be home by now!
“Please can I use your mobile phone?” I asked a stranger sitting on the parapet on the sea face.
“Sure,” he said, “tell me the number. I’ll try.”
I told him. He dialed. Once, twice! Then with a knowledgeable look on his face he told me what I already knew, “No one is picking up.”
I looked at my watch: 7.45PM. I felt a tremor of trepidation. Instinctively I knew that something was wrong. I tried to calm myself and think rationally.
“Anything wrong?” the stranger asked looking intently at me.
“No,” I said trying to wipe out the anxiety on my face, smoothening my worried look into a grin. “I’m trying to get my wife.”
“Why don’t you try some other number? Her friend, her office?” he said holding out his cell-phone.
Yes. Her office. Priya’s office. How come I didn’t think of it before?
I dialed Priya’s office number.
“Hello,” said a male voice.
“I want to speak to Priya Ranade,” I said. “I’m her husband speaking from Mumbai.”
“Oh,” the voice said,” Just a minute.”
There was long pause. The silence was killing. Then suddenly the sound of someone picking up the phone.
“Hello, Mr. Ranade, Godbole here.” Godbole was Priya’s boss. “Your wife left at five, as usual,” he said. “In fact even we are winding up now. It’s almost eight.” I could her some conversation in the background. “Just hold the line please,” Godbole said. After a few seconds Godbole spoke, “You’re speaking from Mumbai, are you? Anything wrong? Any problem?”
“No one is picking up the phone at my house,” I said.” Even her mobile.”
Read the rest of the story in here *gleez.com/articles/relationship/a-husband-a-wife-and-suspicion
The moment I saw the telephone booth I decided to ring up my wife in Pune. I wish I hadn’t. But then you wouldn’t be reading this story. At that precise point of time I should have been just out of Mumbai harbour, sailing on the high seas, but my ship’s departure was suddenly postponed by a day as some cargo documents were not in order and whilst the ship-chandlers and agents were on the job, obtaining the necessary clearances, I decided to see a movie at the Regal cinema and then kill time window-shopping on Colaba Causeway.
Having enjoyed the afternoon show, I was lazily strolling down Colaba Causeway when I saw the telephone booth. I wasn’t carrying my cell-phone – never do when sailing. I looked at my watch: 6.45PM.
Priya, my wife, should be home in Pune by now. I dialed our home number. The phone at the other end started ringing. Five rings. No one picked up. Ten rings. Twenty. And suddenly it cut-off. I tried again. No one picked up. I tried her cell-phone – ten rings, cut-off, she didn’t answer.
Walking towards Marine Drive, I wondered why Priya was late coming home. Her office finished at five, and it was just half-an-hour’s scooter drive to our home. Priya was always home by 6 PM. 6.15 at the most!
I looked at my watch: 7.15PM. Suddenly I spotted another phone booth. There was a proliferation of these nowadays. I went in and dialed. No reply. I dialed again and again. Our home landline number, her mobile number. I must have dialed both numbers at least ten times and every time the story was the same – ten rings and cut off.
As I walked by the sea in the enveloping darkness, strange thoughts began entering my brain. Maybe Priya had an accident. I wished I had never bought her that scooter. It was so dangerous driving a two-wheeler in the chaotic evening traffic of Pune. And Priya’s driving was so rash. I had warned her so many times about her reckless driving. But she just wouldn’t listen. Stubborn! That’s what she was. Like she insisted on buying the latest two-wheeler model with powerful pick-up, so she could zip around town. I’d suggested she use the car, but she said it was impossible for her to drive a car in the frenzied traffic on the narrow roads of Pune. And, of course, she was tired of traveling by bus. Besides it was below her dignity.
At first I was angry with her; then gradually my anger turned to anxiety. An accident? A distinct possibility. Maybe I was imagining things. Getting worried for nothing. Priya must be home by now!
“Please can I use your mobile phone?” I asked a stranger sitting on the parapet on the sea face.
“Sure,” he said, “tell me the number. I’ll try.”
I told him. He dialed. Once, twice! Then with a knowledgeable look on his face he told me what I already knew, “No one is picking up.”
I looked at my watch: 7.45PM. I felt a tremor of trepidation. Instinctively I knew that something was wrong. I tried to calm myself and think rationally.
“Anything wrong?” the stranger asked looking intently at me.
“No,” I said trying to wipe out the anxiety on my face, smoothening my worried look into a grin. “I’m trying to get my wife.”
“Why don’t you try some other number? Her friend, her office?” he said holding out his cell-phone.
Yes. Her office. Priya’s office. How come I didn’t think of it before?
I dialed Priya’s office number.
“Hello,” said a male voice.
“I want to speak to Priya Ranade,” I said. “I’m her husband speaking from Mumbai.”
“Oh,” the voice said,” Just a minute.”
There was long pause. The silence was killing. Then suddenly the sound of someone picking up the phone.
“Hello, Mr. Ranade, Godbole here.” Godbole was Priya’s boss. “Your wife left at five, as usual,” he said. “In fact even we are winding up now. It’s almost eight.” I could her some conversation in the background. “Just hold the line please,” Godbole said. After a few seconds Godbole spoke, “You’re speaking from Mumbai, are you? Anything wrong? Any problem?”
“No one is picking up the phone at my house,” I said.” Even her mobile.”
Read the rest of the story in here *gleez.com/articles/relationship/a-husband-a-wife-and-suspicion
