The Mask

It was midnight. My phone started ringing. After a day's exhaustive work, I was enjoying my sleep. I ignored the call. It again rang. I again refused to take it. The phone kept bleeping. I was chagrined and poured out some angry expletives. . My wife got up considering the possibility of some urgency or mishap somewhere. Probably it was the fifth call she received. "Someone wants to talk to you. . Unknown number. . A woman. . ! "

As I took the phone from her, I heard a female voice. I said, "May I know your good name. . ? "

"Don't know me. . ? I am Prashanti Mishra. . I am an English professor. . . This year's Sharala Sahitya Awardee. . "

"Madam, can't we talk in the morning tomorrow. . ? It is 1:30 now. . "I said.

"Just shut up. . ! I want to talk right now. . ! "

"Madam I am very tired. . What have I done. . ?

Do you think it is decorous to disturb someone in the middle of a night?

"Hold your tongue, I say. . . ! You dog. . ! You scoundrel. . ! How dare you call my stories 'Much ado about nothing'. . . ? You think you can say anything and get away. . . ? You and that ass of an editor who printed the bullshit you wrote about my stories, belong to Kendrapara. . . . ! And what's Kendrapara known for. . ? Except hooliganism. . sex scandals. . and drug-trafficking! You don't know me. . ! I'll enter your house, grab you by the scruff and strike you with a chappal. . You dog! "

"Madam I am your younger brother. . . ! I have touched your feet twice. . You are getting angry to no avail. Should a generous and charitable soul like you stain your literary career writing some worthless matters and pure muck. . ? I remember once you gave a long account of the poor people you helped on different occasions. And that too with such elusive minutest details. . . Madam, you and your husband are really great. . ! "

Her husband Jugal Kishor Mishra began abusing and amusing me too. He shouted over phone, "You beggar. . ! Do you know who I am? My men will teach you a lesson. Can't even imagine how desperately you will hurry your way to Kendrapara. . ! If you love your life, stop sticking your oar in other people's affairs. . "

My wife was wide awake but she was unable to make head or tail of the conversation going on at 1:30 in the night. On her insistence I had switched on the phone's loudspeaker. I had to urge her from time to time to keep quiet. Mrs. Mishra's abusive words had turned her into an active volcano. I was scared she might erupt any time preventing my hitting the prized target.

I heard her husband's thundering: "I think your only obsession is to malign other writers. I read the stupid piece you have written. . . What do you actually do. . ? You are only perfectly great. . ? And all the others are perfect nobodies. . ! You are criticising The God of Small Things. . . ? You say Jhumpa Lahiri is a good-for-nothing writer. . . ? "

As they seemed to have cooled down a little, I tried to explain calmly: "Madam, the Odia story 'Baibhaba' that you have written is based on a love story. A boy and a girl fall in love and marry. The boy is absolutely good and the girl too does only good things and is the most beautiful girl in the world. This is unconvincing as well as uninteresting. . You have used the word 'hair' eighteen times in a single story! The word 'feet' appears eleven times;'mouth' thirteen times;'eyes' fifteen times; 'yellow' twelve times;'black' thirteen times; 'shoes' nine times. . What kind of story is this. . . . ? "

Her husband had started hissing.

"That's none of your business mister! If you like you can worship the photos of Arundhati Roy and Jhumpa Lahiri day and night. . . " I pretended being angry.

The lady laughed contemptuously and said, "Eh. . ? Showing us your anger. . ? You rascal. . . ! You will teach people how to write. . ? It takes years to attain a little fame. . One who writes only knows how hard a writer works. . . It's envious people like you who have no qualms of conscience and damage that fame in a single day. . . . ! "

Her husband said, "Actually this guy is ignorant of what true literature should be like. . . Doesn't know what SHOW-NOT-TELL is. . . "

"Quite right. . ! " she said.

"He never did any course in creative writing. . " her husband returned, " This rascal is too dense to understand modern writing. . "

"What right have you got to call me a rascal? Can't you behave like a normal human? "

"You bastard. . . You dog! You'll teach us sense? " roared Mrs. Mishra.

I laughed aloud, "Ha. . ha. . ha. ! "

They seemed to be confused. I cleared them up. "Madam, I have recorded every word you and your husband spoke. Let the people know what actually you are. . Check your WhatsApp account tomorrow morning. . Also check YouTube. Good night, Madam. . ! Good night Sir. . ! May Sri Sai bless you. . ! "