In mute mode, a teacher with laryngitis

They say if speech is silver, silence is golden. But the dictum does not cut ice if your speech is the source of your bread and butter. This is specially true for a language teacher, who earns his sustenance by putting his vocal box to work.

Five years ago, I woke up to get ready for my college, and to my utter dismay, found that everything was fine but for my voice. Suddenly, I began to feel a lump in my throat with a rattling discomfort. I rushed to an ENT doctor post haste. His diagnosis confirmed that mine was a case of vocal strain owing to constant voice abuse.

I was familiar with phrases like drug abuse, sexual abuse and so on, but voice abuse was an addition to my vocabulary. My vocal cords were fed up with me because I was stretching them beyond their permissible elastic limits, declared the doctor. And thereon I was put on a mute mode for a few days.

In those long days of silence, my mind received many loud and clear revelations. I had taught my students that no society can ever exist without language of which I was temporarily deprived. The prescribed period of voice rest was a virtual torture for a habitual chatterbox.

Though I firmly resisted the temptation to speak, the lump continued to persist. When I broke my ‘maun vrat (vow of silence)’, much to my astonishment, I felt as if I was yet to imbibe the skills of speech. But all hell broke loose during my follow-up visit to the ENT specialist. The doctor advised that I change my profession. He warned that dysphonia (a speech disorder) would recur if I put my voice box in a testing situation. The other doctors too did not differ much in their opinions.

But I was not prepared to alter the course of my professional boat. Teaching, for a passionate teacher, does not just ensure his financial security, but becomes part of his very being. They say once a cop, always a cop. “Likewise, once a teacher, always a teacher,” I told myself.

A speech therapist was my last straw of hope and I clutched it firmly. And where there is hope, there is a miracle. A set of miraculous vocal exercises restored the sheen of my voice to a large extent. The itchy lump too was dissolving. I was back in the lecture gear, but with a list of certain lifelong precautions.

Now loud shouts have given way to subdued calls. Though I am very miserly in clapping at cultural functions, I clap to call people closer. Every lecture is followed by a considerably long voice reset session. Having given up flirting with my tired vocal cords, I only take recourse to language when I am in class because words of my speech therapist always echo in my ears. She had said, “Don’t speak a single word for which you are not paid”.

This is how a teacher with lifelong laryngitis learnt to teach.

SUDDENLY, I BEGAN TO FEEL A LUMP IN MY THROAT WITH A RATTLING DISCOMFORT. THE DOCTOR’S DIAGNOSIS CONFIRMED THAT MINE WAS A CASE OF VOCAL STRAIN OWING TO CONSTANT VOICE ABUSE