The Phone That Never Rang

It was raining outside. People were forced to stay inside the four walls of their rooms. The clouds were black with frequent thunder and lightening. Full brazen storms were making it impossible for trees to stand upright—they swirled and curved as a seasoned dancer. Even the dogs in the street had stopped barking in anticipation of some untold fear.

Siddhartha was walking restlessly inside his room, waiting for the rain to stop.His mind was wandering faster than the rain outside. But just as his body, his soul too was caged inside his hovering thoughts—desperately seeking to move out.Often was he addressed “little pint” because of his small and fragile stature.He never had many friends nor did he ever look for friends either. He was a loner, primarily because of his eccentricity. It was not that he did not like people but his overall persona had a certain kind of resistance which people found quite displeasing. However, he was never too worried about his disqualified friendly status but never was he glad of it either. He projected himself as a buffoon precisely to prevent himself from people to take him seriously. He had already achieved the point of cynicism where success and failure alike looked a blatant social gaffe. Some of his other rakish behavior did not help his case either—he drank and smoked freely and borrowed money on all sides possible.

But never in his life had he felt as lonely as he felt that day.

Siddhartha watched the rain outside and thought of life; and as always happened when he thought of life—he became sad. A kind of pain,which he considered writer’s pride possession,took over him.

“It has to ring, it has to ring”, he thought.

The rain-drops were spattering unto the peepal leaves just outside his house. His eyes were stuck onto the mobile screen. He was holding his mobile phone in his hands just like a slipping man holds the edge of a cliff. He stared at the mobile screen as a hungry man stares food. It was now or never for him. He had seen enough failures to realize the importance of this already slipping chance.

“It might be network outage; it has been raining cats and dogs for days. God will show me the way”, he pacified himself.

Restless mind makes you to do fretful things. The story of a man who was deceived for a baked chapatti in a full moon was still fresh in his mind. He had already made up his mind.

Phone has an uncanny knack of ringing at the wrong time from the wrong people.

“Trin-Trin”, the phone rang suddenly breaking his chain of thoughts. The number displayed on the cell somehow gave him a rotten feeling. He picked the phone and said:

“Hallo”.

“Hello, Sir. This is Rahul calling from Global Telecom. You have not paid your bills for the last month, so all your incoming as well as outgoing calls would be barred in effect from today”.

“Hey, listen! It has been raining since last four days and I was unable to move outside. I will pay the bills as soon as the weather gets better. I am waiting for a very important call; please don’t bar my call today. Please for god’s sake don’t do it”, Siddhartha frenziedly begged.

“I very well understand your concern, sir. And, I really apologize for the inconvenience, however, this is our company policy to which I have little authority”, Rahul uttered without apathy or emotions.

The apology sounded more robotic than humanly.

“No, you scoundrel—you can’t do this to me”, Siddhartha was yelling on the phone.
The phone clicked from the other side. Apparently, Rahul hung up on him. The silence was terrifying.

“No, he can’t do this, not today”, Siddhartha thought.

He had not eaten for three days now. He quickly checked his wallet and found a one rupee coin that his mother gave it to him as a good-luck-charm. Apart from that, it was empty. Perhaps the only thing he was filled with was, thoughts—empty thoughts.

Four years hence he had seen her off at the airport and wished her God-speed. He never heard from her since then.
“I can’t eat your words or thoughts”, she said “I have to make career of my own, which apparently you have dropped from your life”.

These words were still fresh in Siddhartha’s mind which she had said before leaving. He never called by her name—never. She was perhaps his only worldly attachment—a strong one too.

He recalled the poem which he had written for her in his dairy. He opened that diary which was now tattered. And, he felt proud of what he had written.

“Happy Birthday, honey”, she kissed him while saying.
“Oh god, you crazy—it’s midnight. What would your folks think?” Siddhartha said anxiously.

“Never on earth can I miss to kiss you on your birthday. Now stop whining and cut the cake”, she said rolling her eyes.

“She must have lost my number. She must call me. She couldn’t forget, it’s my birthday”, Siddhartha consoled himself.

He looked outside—it was still raining heavily. The nearest telephone booth from where he could call was five kilometers away. Others had stopped giving him loan.
He came out of his house and haughtily walked down the streets without an umbrella. He was drenched to his toe and his pace quickened subsequently. For the first time in his life he felt himself superior to the people he passed. As he walked near the bus-stop, he saw the bus had already passed. And again, for the first time in his life he ran frantically after the bus. Suddenly he slipped because of the rain and his head hit the stone. Suddenly the whole world came swirling around his eyes and he saw his whole life sequence in that split second. And, then it all got hazy, it all got dark—darker than the light outside.

People crowded around the immobile soul. The body saw a clot around the head. Somebody said, “He has died”.
Suddenly a phone rang quirkily. People looked around and saw it was coming from the dead man’s phone—which was still fisted in his hand. Someone took the mobile out of his fist.
The phone was still ringing which displayed “SARIKA CALLING”. And, then it stopped to conceive a deafening silence.