By Sujatha Subramanian, Winner of Onlooker story contest, 1964

It was a very pleasant evening. Our very good friends, the Lals were dining with us. Conversation flowed easily and I was complimenting myself that everything was going just fine .

The first course was over and I brought on the steaming rice and curry. My husband handed around the appetisingly spiced dish and Mr Lal sniffed appreciatively. He always had a weakness for my curries and helped himslef liberally. Then it was Mrs Lal’s turn. Suddenly my husband stopped with the dish poised in mid-air. His face turned green and he looked as if he had the colic. I thought I could even hear a groan. I caught his eye and my own face blanched. I tensed my knuckles on the table and prepared to face it or rather face the music ! My husband recovered and with a poor attempt at a smile passed the curry around to Mrs Lal. If the Lals had noticed anything strange about our behaviour, they were too well mannered to mention it. But for me, the whole evening was doomed !

There it was again..”Aaaah… it sounded like a voice from purgatory… a voice being tortured beyond all endurance. If you have ever read a horror comic and come across a page where a hot iron is being drawn over a pretty girl’s face and the balloon reads “Aaaah”, then your imagination will conjure up the voice which we hear every night from our dining room window. After the long drawn-out “Aaaah”, there is a meaningless jumble of words which sound very much like a string of curses. This is our neighbour’s ONE and ONLY treasured gramophone record. Between the hours of eight and nine, in the evening, we have been hearing this. “Requiem for a lost soul” come rain or shine for the past six months.

At first, it was just a joke with us. “Look at what our neighbour has bought.. a new gramophone and A Record !!” I said to my husband on the first day. But very soon it became obvious, that neither the gramophone, nor the record was new. It had most probably been obtained from the local flea market -Chor Bazaar for a song !

The Voice can run through a gamut of keys. In fact the musical acrobatics performed is quite astonishing..”Aaaah” its tarts at a high pitch and by the timethe gramophone ends, it emits a most unearthly, drawling bass note.

With the passage of time, we are no closer to getting used to the weird wail, instead we are getting jittery. When evening comes around, we plan with feverish haste some outing that will keep us out of the house till 9 pm. After this, we can safely come in, as our neighbours go to bed punctually at this hour. But, when occassion arises for us to stay at home, the striking of 8 o’clock is like a knell to us

My husband switches on the radio as loudly as he possibly dares or try to drown out THE VOICE with some loud conversation. But it creeps in somehow and before the record completes a turn, we know we are beaten.

Chopping vegetables for dinner, or talking to friends in the sitting room, putting my child to bed or eating a cosy two-some dinner, we know we can never escape THE VOICE !

Last week I had a bright idea. I thought if I gave our neighbour another new record, they might throw away THE VOICE! So, the same evening, I bought a new record. A nice, lively tune and took it upto them.

“It is so good of you to have taken all this trouble for us”, cooed our neighbour’s wife . “But, you know,” she confided in me, the record will certainly last us a few months more , and then we certainly use this one”. I hastily repressed a tendency to shudder and walked back. I know nothing can save us from the ordeal now and we shall have to put up with THE VOICE.