But Arko wasn’t worried—he was annoyed. His eyebrows furrowed. Because this vibration wasn’t from his heart, but from the mobile phone in his shirt pocket. It was on vibrate mode. And that meant—Utsa was calling him.
Ugh, if only this girl would listen to him! If he didn’t answer, she would keep calling. That was Utsa’s nature. She would call repeatedly until she got an answer, as if she were in some great danger.
Arko’s office had a strict no-phone policy, and Utsa knew that. Still, she was calling.
Before leaving in the morning, Arko had told his wife explicitly, “Utsa, do not call me.”
Utsa was sitting on the sofa, reading a beauty magazine. Ever since their wedding seven months ago, she spent her mornings engrossed in these magazines—one day about hair, another about hands, another about lips. Today, it was about eyelashes: How to Keep Your Eyelashes Looking Wet for Long.
The one giving the advice was a humorous writer. The first tip read: The easiest and shortest way for a woman to keep her eyes wet is to cry. Tears will make your eyes look deep, soft, and enchanting. Remember, just as modesty is a woman's adornment, tears are an ornament for a woman's eyes.
Lifting her face from the magazine, Utsa asked, "Why shouldn’t I call?"
Buttoning his shirt, Arko replied, “Because mobile phones are not allowed at my workplace. We have to leave them outside before entering. Understand, Utsa?”
Utsa chuckled mischievously, "Why aren't they allowed? Is this a school?"
Arko had answered this question countless times over the past month. Though irritated, he controlled his temper. It wasn’t good to get angry at one’s wife so soon after marriage.
In fact, he would never be able to get angry at Utsa. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was soft-hearted. And it’s hard to be angry at someone so gentle.
With a calm voice, Arko explained, “No, it’s not a school, Utsa. It’s a laboratory. And in that lab, we work with sound. Other sounds are not allowed.”
Utsa was sitting in a beautiful dressing gown—one of those that reveal as much as they cover. It didn’t show directly, but hinted at everything. And that had already put Arko in trouble several times.
He was three days late for work. The office car had arrived and was honking downstairs, yet he was still putting on his shoes.
Utsa stretched her arms and yawned, then asked, “You answered my call yesterday. Why can’t you do it today?”
"Yesterday, I did something wrong, Utsa. I secretly kept my phone in my shirt pocket on vibrate mode. When you called, I went to the bathroom.”
Utsa laughed, her diamond-like teeth gleaming. “Do the same today! Go to the bathroom, and we’ll have a great chat. You in the bathroom, me in the bedroom—bedroom-to-bathroom conversations! Sounds fun, right?”
Arko pretended to be serious. "One can’t break the rules every day.”
With a soft, affectionate voice, Utsa said, “Oh dear! You’re calling talking to me a ‘wrong’ thing?”
“I didn’t say talking to you is wrong. I said taking my mobile into the lab is wrong. Any kind of sound wave can be detected there—whether it’s the vibration of my phone or your voice. We have sound-capturing machines.”
Utsa’s eyes widened. “Machines that capture sound? You mean, you tap phones?”
Arko laughed. “No, not phone tapping. Our work is even more complicated. We untangle knots in words.”
“What? How funny! Do words get tangled like hair?”
The office car honked again. Arko hurriedly tied his shoelaces. “I’ll explain later. I have to go now. Please, don’t call today, darling!”
Utsa pouted. "But I live alone in the apartment. What if a burglar breaks in and gags me? I still shouldn’t call?”
As he entered the office, Arko thought—today, he would leave his phone outside. But at the last moment, he remembered Utsa’s imagined burglar scenario.
A man’s heart is such a strange thing—it still gets swayed after marriage. So, Arko kept his phone in vibrate mode and tucked it into his chest pocket.
In the research lab, everyone had to wear transparent rubber gloves, cover their nose and mouth with cloth, and wear a plastic cap over their heads. At first glance, they looked like surgeons in an operating theater.
The room was filled with modern, complex machines—laptops, sound boxes, headphones, sound editing systems, and many unfamiliar devices. Even Arko had felt intimidated when he first entered.
Last month, when he was transferred to this new research wing, he was surprised. Professor Soham Talukdar had explained his assignment.
Hearing it all, Arko asked in disbelief, “Sir, is this really possible?”
"It wasn't before. The problem existed only abroad. But now, it's happening here too," Soham said.
Arko asked, “Why is this problem occurring here?”
“We’re still trying to figure it out. Perhaps because people are talking more than ever before. Everywhere—on the streets, in buses, in cars, at home—it’s just endless conversations. Mobile phones have made it non-stop. If we could measure it, we’d see billions of words being spoken every second.
"But sound waves have a limit, just like roads. If too many cars suddenly appear on a street, there will be a traffic jam. The same thing is happening with words. They are getting tangled, creating a mess. People think they are hearing everything, but some words are getting lost in between. Our job is to untangle these knots."
Fascinated, Arko listened to Soham explain how countries worldwide were working on this, though secretly. “Arko, I checked your file. You studied physics and did really well. I want you to shift from management to this research."
Excited, Arko agreed. “Absolutely, sir! This is more interesting than management!”
Back in the present, Arko was lost in thought when his phone vibrated again. He hesitated—should he switch it off? But then Utsa’s voice rang in his mind: "I live alone. What if a burglar breaks in?"
Worried, he went to the corridor and called her. “What happened, Utsa?”
"Nothing. I just missed you," she said playfully.
Relieved, Arko sighed. "I told you not to call. Still, you did."
Utsa giggled, ignoring his annoyance. "So, did you untangle any love words today?"
Arko grinned. "Not today. Just a sound of a kiss. Only the sound. No words, darling.”
Laughing, he hung up.
About the Writer and Publication
This story is taken from Pracheta Gupta’s collection of 50 stories.
Pracheta Gupta is a well-known name in contemporary Bengali literature. His first novel, Amar Ja Aachhe, was published in Anandalok magazine in 2004.
In 2007, director Tarun Majumdar adapted his novel Chander Bari into a Bengali film.
Pracheta regularly writes for Bengali magazines like Desh, Sananda, and 19-20.
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