The story I'm about to tell you happened a long time ago — nearly fifteen or sixteen years back. Back then, smartphones hadn't hit the market yet, and even if they had, they were beyond most people's reach. I — that is, Ambika Sarkar — had just passed my higher secondary exams and enrolled in the first year of college. However, don't assume everything I narrate happened to me personally. Incidents like this occur in many lives — maybe yours, maybe mine. So I'd request you to take this as a story, nothing more.
The constant ringing of the phone woke me up. I looked at the screen — it was exactly 1:13 AM. Damn, I missed it. I'd been so tired from the day's chores that I had fallen asleep as soon as I lay down. I had planned to stay up all night to send New Year greetings. But nothing went as planned. Staring at the screen displaying 01/01/2007, I felt disappointed. A bunch of messages had come in. Just as I was about to check them, the phone rang again. The number was unknown, but I picked up.
A male voice on the other end said, "Hello, sister, Happy New Year!" This number had called several times before too. The voice was unfamiliar. Still, I replied, "Happy New Year." He asked, "What's the plan for tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow? You mean today," I said.
"Whatever. What's the plan?"
"Nothing really. Have to attend college in the morning — there's an event. Might hang out with some friends after that."
"I'm not included?" he said in a pleading voice that caught me off guard.
"How can you join? You're not even in the country. When you return, we'll plan something. Also, how do you even know my friends?"
"What do you mean 'when I return'? Where do you think I've gone?" he asked in surprise. I was a little confused too but brushed it off. "Stop joking around, big bro. It's really late here. Good night. Call tomorrow if you get time — I'll let you talk to Mom."
Then came an unexpected reply: "What are you saying, sister? I'm Suman."
"Suman? I don't know anyone named Suman. And why are you calling me 'sister'?"
"Sister? No, no — I said 'Mon' (short for Monica or a name perhaps)."
"Oh, sorry. I heard 'Bon' (sister). So, you're not Ronjoy Sarkar?"
"No, I'm Suman. And you're Ankita, right?"
Now I was annoyed. "No, I'm not Ankita," I said sharply.
It was late, and I was irritated by the intrusion.
"You've wasted so much of my time. Please hang up. I'm not enjoying this."
"But talking to you felt like talking to Mon. And this is Mon's number."
"Look, this is my number and my name isn't Mon. These old tricks don't work on me. Just hang up and get some sleep. Good night."
I ended the call, but it left a strange feeling. On any other day, I might not have minded, but to behave so rudely on the very first day of the year — that wasn't me. I've never liked hurting anyone's feelings. Since childhood, I was taught to be a "good girl." So behaving this way didn't sit right with me.
The next morning, I was woken up by Mom's shouting.
"Oh God, not again," I thought.
"You're just waking up? It's chaos here since morning, and you…"
"What happened?" I asked, still groggy.
"What happened? What didn't happen! Whose phone were you sleeping with last night?"
"Mine!" I said irritably.
"Then whose is this?" Mom asked, holding up a phone.
I was confused. I reached under my pillow — and realized it wasn't my phone at all. It was my sister's. The phones looked identical, but she had a sticker on the back. I must've picked hers by mistake last night after chatting with her before bed. She didn't notice either?
"We thought the phone was stolen, and in all the shouting, you slept like a log!" Mom yelled.
"Where was my phone?" I asked meekly.
"Switched off and charging in Grandma's room," she replied.
"Why are you so careless?"
Trying to escape Mom's scolding, I went to the bathroom. After my shower, I went to my sister's room, wished her a Happy New Year, and apologized.
"Sorry, Didi, I accidentally took your phone last night."
"It's okay. Did anyone call?"
"Yeah, someone called from an unknown number asking for an Ankita. I tried telling him it wasn't her number, but he didn't get it."
"Oh, is that so?" Didi replied.
Ambika continued, "And he even said, 'Your voice sounds just like hers — like Mon's.' Can you believe it? I scolded him good. Told him not to call again."
"Good job," her sister said. "Now go, or you'll be late for college. I'm going back to sleep. Couldn't sleep at all last night. Close the door on your way out."
Ambika felt a little sad. Her sister hadn't been the same since the accident. She spent most of her time alone, lying in bed. Ambika tried hard to make her happy, but it rarely worked.
Meanwhile, her sister Ambha thought to herself: Finally, some peace. He won't call again. I won't have to pretend to be Ankita anymore.
She had never wanted to be Ankita for Suman. She always wanted to be accepted as Ambha. But no matter what she did, Suman never noticed her. Yet now, every night, she had to lull him to sleep over the phone — tell him stories, talk like Ankita. In six months, it had become a habit. She often wondered how to break free from it.
But had she truly found freedom?