The Crank Caller 2012

Last year, I was repeatedly fooled by a crank caller. A female voice, pretending to know me well, phoned me time and again.

It all began one evening when I visited my colleague Mr Sherab’s home. Mrs Ugyen Dema was already a guest there. Not long after my arrival, they had already laid out a delightful spread of food and drinks – wine, Chaangkaey, local Aezay, and more. As we enjoyed the meal, our conversations drifted across different topics, becoming animated, and even heated at times. Laughter and debate filled the room.

Suddenly, at 10:37 PM, my phone beeped. It was an unknown number. I jokingly announced the digits 1-7-3-6-9-4-8-1 to the room before picking up.

“Hello, who’s this?”

“I am your secret admirer,” came the response.

“Oh, thank you for being one. I am busy at the moment,” I said, and ended the call. 

My friends were quick with teasing remarks. They told me that I was either showing off that a girl called my number or hiding some secrets despite being a married. When the phone beeped again, Sherab suggested putting it on loudspeaker so everyone could hear. After some persuasion, I did.

The voice now sounded frustrated. 

“Why are you so demanding? I did not ask you to call me. It is me who does.”
She claimed to know me, even describing my red car. She said she got my number from her sister, who had been my student, but refused to name her.

Then came the awkward question: “Do you love me?” 

“Are you mad? How can I love an invisible lady?” I mocked.

Behind me, my friends were struggling not to burst out laughing. The cushions muffled their chuckles.

Suspicion and Curiosity

The caller then said she was alone at the Gewog ADM’s shop (located next to my school) and asked me to accompany her because she was afraid to walk alone. This raised the stakes. We were no longer amused. The call had shifted into something stranger and more personal.

Ms Ugyen remarked that the voice seemed familiar. 

“I think it is ADM’s wife,” she guessed. 

“But she is married,” I replied.

The phone rang again. 

“Are you coming? I do not see you,” she said. 

Then we planned to find out the person. Mrs Ugyen agreed to accompany me and spy while I played along. We departed from Sherab’s house. Facing into the direction of the caller, I waved a torchlight towards the ADM’s shop, but the caller claimed not to see it. She refused to meet me halfway.

Eventually, Mrs Ugyen joined me as we approached the shop. The lights were on, and we could hear the ADM’s wife speaking on the phone inside. We grew more suspicious. I tried calling the number again, but it was unreachable. We speculated she might be using a dual SIM.

After waiting for some time, we decided to leave the scene for two reasons: if anyone saw us near the shop, we might be mistaken for thieves. Worse, if we were seen together at that hour, it could invite damaging gossip. We were both married, after all.

 

Confrontation and Denial

The next morning, I visited the ADM’s shop during morning recess. I pretended to shop for something and casually brought up the incident.

Smiling, I said, “The voice sounded like yours. I suppose you were the one who called me.”

She grew defensive. 

“Sir, do you think I am a girl of such kind? I wasn’t the one. A girl I might recognise if I see her, but whose name I don’t know, used my phone to call.”

Her response felt ridiculous. And getting more frustrated, I warned her: if I discovered the truth, I would not spare you or any other who is involved in this incident. Then I left. 

One Year Later – The Truth?

Almost a year passed. On 8th October, I spotted an old note in my phone: “The Crank Caller 2012” along with the number. I scribbled the number and called.

“May I know where this is?” I asked.

“Bumthang. Whom do you want?” the voice responded.

“Oh really. I doubt it. This feels like Kabesa,” I said.

Then she immediately turned defensive because she knew who I was. 

“Sir, who gave you, my number? Do you think I am a girl of such kind?”

I tried to explain that I was only trying to trace the person behind last year’s calls.

She grew agitated, insisting she was not like “those girls who call and entertain every man”. I clarified I had said no such thing, but asked how the number still belonged to her if she was not the caller.

Again, she blamed another girl but refused to name her. As the conversation grew more accusatory, I hung up. She continued to call, but I ignored her.

 

The Final Blow

The next day, while I was teaching, a new number called. It was her husband – the ADM officer who works in the gewog office, a few metres away from the school. He accused me of calling his wife a prostitute and emotionally harassing her.

I was utterly shocked to hear this from someone known through professional interactions. I swore him that I had never used such words. I also reminded him how the whole matter had started, with his wife’s phone.

He was silent.

“Don’t believe in whatever others say, even if it is your wife. I know you are educated. You have the education. It is now your duty to use that education as a tool to evaluate”, I added.

Despite this, he insisted that he will lodge the case with the gewog office and I may be called to attend and settle the case. I agreed to what he said because I had enough evidence and witnesses too. 

Sadly, that meeting never happened. And I knew it never will. 

Because, as I bitterly put it – “If a thief like his wife does not steal, a dog like me would not bark.”

Lessons Learned 

Looking back, I realise this incident left me with more than just embarrassment and frustration. It taught me a few hard truths.

Firstly, not every call deserves a response – especially when the number is unfamiliar or new. Entertaining unknown numbers, even as a joke, can spiral into consequences that reach far beyond amusement. What starts as mischief can quickly turn into character assassination.

Secondly, trust is a fragile commodity. Associating with unknown individuals, no matter how innocent the context may seem, invites risks – both to reputation and peace of mind. It is easier to guard one’s dignity than to restore it once stained by rumour.

Thirdly, even among familiar faces, deception wears many masks. The person causing you trouble might be someone you greet every day, smiling politely. It is a strange feeling to suspect a neighbour, a colleague’s spouse, or a community member of duplicity, but life rarely unfolds with the neatness of a textbook.

Lastly, silence is not always a sign of guilt. Sometimes, it is just exhaustion from defending oneself against lies too tangled to untie.

So, I have since drawn a personal line: no more responding to unknown calls unless necessary, no more playful trust in “harmless” voices, and definitely no more wandering around in the dark for someone who cannot face me in the light.