The signs were clear when I lost my voice
Some visitors need no invitation, like the common cold — that makes its yearly visit when the days turn longer, warmer and windier; the type that merely makes its presence known with not too much of a fuss. The only problem was that it decided to pay me a visit during the much-awaited Eid break. On the day that Ramadan drew to a close and people across UAE celebrated Eid, I woke up to the realisation that I could only croak a hoarse whisper in response to the husband’s ‘Good Morning’. By late morning, after multiple glasses of warm water, soup and pretending to be normal, I lost my voice entirely. The only silver lining in my silent misery was that other than losing my voice and a slightly irritated throat, I felt absolutely fine.
That evening I heard the husband say that the house was quiet (read peaceful). In my defence, I am not much of a talker or so say friends and family. The children were sweetly sympathetic but I knew they were thrilled to be home and have no constant reminders — often a few decibels higher to their liking. Little Princess took up the task of translating my sign language. It appeared that she was enjoying playing a daylong game of dumb charades.
By the next day, translations tweaked in their favour. I realised that Little Princess could go on a talking marathon and even win it. The husband and Sid were suspiciously sweet and did not miss pulling my leg with cheeky comments that would have otherwise been met with a cheekier response. It got me wondering if they were forgetting that this quiet spell was just temporary or were they taking ‘living in the moment’ to new heights.
Mute predicament
That evening we visited the mall. At a popular electronic shop, I played the quiet wife standing sweetly by the husband with mere smiles and nods, while the children went about on a hunt for new gadgets to add to their wish list. Bored with the act, I drifted off to the home appliance section walking through isle after isle of kitchen appliances that promised wonders with just the press of a button — enough to make master chefs of us with their mere presence. Curious, I stopped to look at one such sophisticated contraption. A young salesperson who was obviously the expert on this side of the isle made a sudden appearance, smiling and wondering how he could help. It was when I opened my mouth that I realised my mute predicament, and with my little translator out of sight, I wondered if it was best to leave. Unsure, I pulled my mask down and mouthed a few questions assisted with hand gestures. His enthusiastic smile was instantly replaced with a mix of shock, confusion and pity. Gathering himself together, he gestured that he would get right back.
True to his word, he returned with a young woman who had obviously been updated about the situation at hand. Now it was my turn to be shocked and confused for here was a person who was adept in sign language and her quick gestures were overwhelming. I used my phone to type in my questions and responses. In her, I saw no pity and only the need to help while she took me through an assortment of similar contraptions even after I gestured that the real customers were by the electronics and that I was just waiting and whiling away my time.
That evening, I realised how much we take for granted all that we possess and it takes losing it, even for a small while, to realise its significance in our everyday life. As for the husband and children, they can best enjoy this unexpected quiet spell, for I fully intend to make a ‘loud’ return.