The curse of Rani Mukherjee

We all have these moments of truth in our lives, when we realize that we actually aren't as awesome as we've always thought. And these moments can hit the narcissist in us anytime, anywhere, without much of a warning.

So, I was working my ass off as a treasury dealer, hating my job to the core, but being the nice guy that I am, putting in every bit of me into it. And then the fateful day arrived.

We struck deals with our clients on phone. And because these deals involved obnoxious sums of money, all calls were on recorded lines. So, we could refer to the recording anytime there was an issue on any deal. So, yeah, there was an issue with a particular deal of mine, and my boss and me, went to the back-office to listen to the taped conversation between me and the client.

The recording started playing. There were two people talking. And I was in shock.

Hang on a second. Which one is my voice? Not this one! No, No, No! I sound cracked, a little like Rani Mukherjee!

That was a day I died a thousand deaths. I realized that I speak in a coy (like am scared), kiddish, lame, subdued, cracked (this was the most irritating bit) voice. I hated the tone, the pitch, and everything that sound is supposed to be made of. I can't possibly sound like this! I mean, why me!

I was in depression for a few days. I prayed to God, please make my voice more manly, heavy and tough. Amitabh Bacchan? Ok, I am willing to settle for Arjun Rampal. Ok, maybe, thoda baritone? But that wasn't supposed to happen. I am pretty used to my voice now and have resigned to fate.

As if I ever wanted to participate in Indian Idol. Hmph.


PS: Make no mistake. I am still pretty much in love with myself. The eternal type. Just that there is no harm in laughing at one's own fallacies. Makes life a little more bearable :-)