MISSED CALL

"Hello, this is Gerry here. I saw this missed call. May I know, whose number is this?" I asked the lady on the other end.

"I have not made any call, sorry."

"But, ma'am. This number ... Is it yours?"

"I told you, I haven't called you."

"Can you check, if any one around you had tried?"

Dhud!

After ten minutes:

"I am very sorry. It was my dad's phone; he had tried your number," the 'young lady' was on the other end, once again. But, this time around, she was extremely polite and apologetic. "He wanted to enquire about my admission ... I did not know I was talking to you," she really sounded apologetic.

"It's alright beti; just be careful, next time," I advised.

"Okay sir," she promised.

This was yesterday.

About four years ago, one morning, I wanted to talk to Prashant, my student. So, I called his residence number. "Hold on," a rough and cold voice told me. A minute later, Prashant came on the line:

"Kya re?"

I almost died!

When I came alive, I barely could say this:

"Prashant, this is Gerry sir, here."

For a while, Prashant died on the other side, as well! Then, a meek voice announced:

"Sorry sir; I thought it was Abhishek."

It took me some time to realise, why Prashant's father's voice sounded so rude. He never liked Abhishek, Prashant's close buddy, to disturb and 'spoil' his son, by calling hundred times a day!

Well, I had to, once again, say, "It's alright; Just be careful, the next time."

"Okay sir," Prashant had promised.

Before the mobiles and the caller Id's came in the picture, one could fool around with the 'wrong numbers', and get away with it. I know about this man, in his mid-thirties. He was a notorious character, in this respect. If the number he had dialled turned out to be 'wrong' - and if the person on the other end happened to be a moron with his blunt - "Wrong number", this 'character' would be equally blunt to ask, "Why did you pick up the wrong number?" And then, if the person on the other end happened to be a young lady with her sweet, "I am sorry; you seem to have dialled a wrong number," ... this 'pest' would be equally sweet to her:

"But, ma'am, I am not sorry ... May I know your sweet name?"

Bang!

Now a days, I discretely call back. I learnt, with out any great difficulty, how to trace the 'habitual, missed-call' callers. "If it is important, they will call me again," I remind myself. "Or else, it is worth missing."

From bad experience, I am wary of calling back any local MTNL numbers. "Yeh PCO hai!"

"Every out-going call is a silent salesman." We had learnt about it in our junior college. "And, every in-coming call can be a potential business opportunity."

It's only after the globalisation and the Call-Center culture, that this lesson has been taken quite seriously, around.

The blunt telephone operators - the morons - are an extinct species, today. The dinosaurs!

Pheroza, my wife's friend and a colleague, is a senior citizen. She has been one of the consistent achivers of their company's sales targets. Pheroza has testified, and inspired, her colleagues, several times - by sharing her experience on the phone. She has turned the phone conversation into a 'fine art' ... and that's what, actually, it is. She has shared with them stories, as to - how she has converted the so called 'freaky wrong numbers' into 'big sales'! And, how she has made some 'big friends', too!

No matter how irritated you are, please don't show it to the person on the other end. That includes the calls from all those tele-marketing people, who call you up, a dozen times a day ... and, all at the 'wrong' time!

Am I being silly?

Maybe. At least, let's learn to be gentle, yet firm. Being assertive is only for those who want to know what is a high self-esteem all about. We learn patience only from our 'pests'... and, our impatience can cost us dearly, at times. I learnt it the hard way, one night.

It was 10.00 in the night. I had just reached home, after what can be called a typical 'bad day'. I was touchy, prone to be provoked.

"Dad," my son shouted, "Call for you."

A lady with a heavily loaded foreign accent was on the other end. She wanted to speak to my office assistant.

"Ma'am, this is my residence number," I told her in my domestic accent. "You can call tomorrow at the office number. Do you have it?"

"Yes, I do."

I should have ended the conversation there. But, being a nosy boss of my assistant, I continued:

"May I know who is speaking?"

"Well, I am sorry; I can not reveal that," the lady said with lots of confidence.

My ego took over from there.

"You want to talk to my assistant, and you say you can not reveal your identity?" I questioned, letting her know my own identity.

"I am really sorry; I can not do that."

I banged the receiver down.

After five minutes, the phone rang, again. It was the same firangi lady.

"Ma'am," I yelled, "I told you this is my residence number."

"Sir, I want to talk to YOU. I am Reshma from London."

My tail, at once, went in ... and, I literally froze!

Reshma, a very dear student of mine, was calling from London, after fifteen years. She always wanted to do 'something' for our Institute, her 'alma mater'. And, she wanted to do it quietly, with out my knowledge. She wanted to take our postal address from my assistant, and she had wrongly dialled my residence number, for that!

I did not know where to hide!

Luckily, Reshma was so dear to me ... that, despite my 'goof up', she arranged to send a 'big' donation with a big 'thank you'.

And, of course, with a big 'It's alright', too!

Now, we, regularly, remind each other about this episode, and smile ... Like good friends.

"Are you relaxing?" once, some one had asked him.

He jumped out of his sleep, and clarified, "No, I am Milka Singh."

I still thank Reshma for waking me up from my sleep.



GERALD D'CUNHA