One Night at the Call Center

by Chetan Bhagat

  Now let's get back to the story. If you remember, I had just woken up.

  There was a noise in the living room. Some relatives were in town to attend a family wedding. My neighbor was getting married to his cousin … er, sorry, I'm a bit groggy, my cousin was getting married to his neighbor. But I had to work, so I couldn't go to the wedding. It didn't matter, though, all marriages are the same, more or less.

  I reached the bathroom still half-asleep. It was occupied.

  The bathroom door was open. I saw five of my aunts scrambling to get a few square inches of the washbasin mirror. One aunt was cursing her daughter for leaving the matching bindis at home. Another aunt had lost the little screw of her gold earring and was flipping out.

  “It's pure gold, where is it?” she screamed into my face. “Has the maid stolen it?” Like the maid has nothing bet- ter to do than steal one tiny screw. Wouldn't she steal the whole set? I thought.

  “Auntie, can I use the bathroom for five minutes? I need to get ready for the office,” I said.

  “Oh hello, Shyam. Woke up finally?” my mother's sister said. “Office? Aren't you coming to the wedding?”

  “No, I have to work. Can I have the bath—”

  “Look how big Shyam has become,” my maternal aunt said. “We need to find a girl for him soon.”

  Everyone burst into giggles. It was their biggest joke of the day.

  “Can I please—” I said.

  “Shyam, leave the ladies alone,” one of my older cousins interrupted. “What are you doing here with the women? We are already late for the wedding.”

  “But I have to go to work. I need to get dressed,” I protested, trying to elbow my way to the bathroom tap.

  “You work in a call center, don't you?” my cousin said.

  “Yes.”

  “Your work is all on the phone. Why do you need to dress up? Who's going to see you?”

  I didn't answer.

  “Use the kitchen sink,” an aunt suggested and handed me my toothbrush.

  I gave them all a dirty look. Nobody noticed. I passed by the living room on my way to the kitchen. The uncles were outside, on their second whiskey and soda. One uncle said something about how it would be better if my father were still alive and around this evening.

  I reached the kitchen. The floor was so cold I felt like I'd stepped on an ice tray. I realized I had forgotten the soap. I went back but the bathroom door was bolted. There was no hot water in the kitchen, so my face froze as I washed it with cold water. Winter in Delhi is a bitch. I brushed my teeth and used the steel plates as a mirror to comb my hair. Shyam had turned into Sam and Sam's day had just begun.

  I was hungry, but there was nothing to eat in the house. They'd be getting food at the wedding, so my mother had felt there was no need to cook at home.

  The Qualis's horn screamed at 8:55 p.m.

  As I was about to leave, I realized I had forgotten my ID. I went to my room, but couldn't find it. I tried to find my mother instead. She was in her bedroom, lost among aunties, saris, and jewelry sets. She and my aunts were comparing whose set was heaviest. Usually the heaviest aunt had the heaviest set.

  “Mum, have you seen my ID?” I said. Everyone ignored me. I went back to my room as the Qualis honked for the fourth time.

  “Damn, there it is,” I said, reaching under my bed. I pulled it out by its strap and strung it around my neck.

  I waved a good-bye to everyone, but no one acknowledged me. It wasn't surprising. My cousins are all on their way to becoming doctors or engineers. You could say I am the black sheep of my family. In fact, the only reason people even talk to me is because I have a job and get a salary at the end of the month. You see, I used to work in the website department of an ad agency before this call-center job. However, the ad agency paid really badly, and all the people there were pseudos, more interested in office politics than websites. I left and all hell broke loose at home. That's when I became the black sheep. I saved myself by joining Connections. With money in your wallet the world gives you some respect and lets you breathe. Connections was also the natural choice for me as Priyanka worked there. Of course, that reason was no longer relevant.

  My aunt finally found the gold screw trapped in her fake-hair bun.

  The Qualis's horn screamed again.

  “I'm coming,” I shouted as I ran out of the house.

  Chapter 2

  9:05 p.m.

  WHAT, SAHIB. LATE AGAIN?” the driver said as I took the front seat.

  “Sorry, sorry. Shall we go to Military Uncle's place first?” I panted to the driver.

  “Yes,” he replied, looking at his watch.

  “Can we get to the call center by 10:00 p.m.? I have to meet someone before their shift ends,” I said.

  “Depends if your colleagues are on time,” the driver replied laconically. “Anyway, let's pick up the old man first.”

  Military Uncle hates it if we are late. I prepared myself for some dirty looks. His tough manner comes from his days in the Army, from which he retired a few years ago. At fifty plus he is the oldest person in the call center. I don't know him well, and I won't talk about him much, but I do know that he used to live with his son and daughter-in-law before he moved out—for which read thrown out—to be on his own. The pension was meager, and he tried to supplement his income by working in the call center. However, he hates to talk and is not a voice agent. He sits on the solitary online chat and e-mail station. Even though he sits in our room, his desk is at a far corner near the fax machine. He rarely speaks more than three words at a time. Most of his interactions with us are limited to giving us condescending “you young people” glances.

  The Qualis stopped outside Uncle's house. He was waiting at the entrance.

  “You're late,” Uncle said, looking at the driver.

  Without answering, the driver got out to open the Qualis's back door. Uncle climbed in, ignored the middle seat and sat at the back. He probably wanted to sit as far away from me as possible.

  Uncle gave me an it-must-be-your-fault look. I looked away. The driver took a U-turn to go to Radhika's house.

  One of the unique features about my team is that we not only work together, we also share the same Qualis. Through a bit of route planning and recruitment of an agreeable driver, we ensured that my Western Appliances Strategic Group all came and left together. There are six of us: Military Uncle, Radhika, Esha, Vroom, Priyanka, and me.

  The Qualis moved on to Radhika Jha', or agent Regina Jones's, house. As usual, Radhika was late.

  “Radhika madam is too much,” the driver said, holding the horn down. I looked at my watch anxiously.

  Six minutes later Radhika came running toward us, clutching the ends of her maroon shawl in her right hand.

  “Sorry, sorry sorry …,” she said a dozen times before we could say anything.

  “What?” I asked her as the Qualis moved on again.

  “Nothing. I was making almond milk for my mother-in-law and it took longer than I thought to crush the almonds,” she said, leaning back exhausted in her seat in the middle.

  “Ask Mother-in-law to make her own milk,” I suggested.

  “C'mon Shyam,” she said, “she's so old, it's the least I can do, especially when her son isn't here.”

  “Yeah, right,” I shrugged. “Just that and cooking three meals a day and household chores and working all night and…”

  “Shh,” she said, “don't talk about it. Any news on the call center? I'm nervous.”

  “Nothing new from what Vroom told me. We have no new orders, call volumes are at an all-time low— Connections is doomed. It's just a question of when,” I said.

  “Really?” her eyes widened.

  It was true. You might have heard of those swanky, new-age call centers where everything is hunky-dory, there are plenty of clients, and agents get aromatherapy massages. Well, Connections was not one of them. We are sustained by our one and only client, Western Computers and Appliances, and even th
eir call flow had dwindled.

  Rumors that the call center would collapse floated around every day.

  “You think Connections will close down? Like, for ever?” Radhika asked.

  Uncle raised an eyebrow to look at us, but soon went back to brooding by himself in the backseat. I sometimes wished he would say more, but I guess it's better for people to shut up rather than say something nasty.

  “That or they'll make some major job cuts. Ask Vroom,” I said.

  The Qualis moved painfully slowly. It was a heavy wedding day in Delhi and on every street there was a procession. We edged forward as the driver dodged several fat grooms on their over-burdened horses. I checked the time again. Shefali would do some serious sulking today.

  “I need this job. Anuj and I need to save,” Radhika said, more to herself. Anuj was Radhika's husband. She married him three years ago after a whirlwind courtship in college and now lived in a joint family with Anuj's ultra-traditional parents. It was tough for daddy's only girl, but it's amazing what people do for love.

  The driver drove to Esha Singh's (or agent Eliza Singer's) place next. She was already outside her house. The driver kept the Qualis's ignition on as he opened the back door.

  As Esha got in, the smell of expensive perfume filled the vehicle. She sat next to Radhika in the middle row and removed her suede jacket.

  “Mmm, nice. What is it?” Radhika said.

  “You noticed.” Esha was pleased. “Escape by Calvin Klein.” She bent her knees and adjusted the tassels at the end of her long, dark brown skirt.

  “Oooh. Have you been shopping?” Radhika said.

  “Call it a momentary lapse of reason,” Esha said.

  The driver finally reached a stretch of empty road and accelerated the Qualis.

  I looked at Esha again. Her dress sense is impeccable. Esha dresses better on an average day than I have ever done. Her sleeveless coffee-colored top contrasted perfectly with her skirt and she wore chunky brown earrings that looked edible and lipstick as thick as cocoa. She looked as if she'd just kissed a bowl of chocolate sauce. Her eyes had at least one of these things—mascara, eyeliner and/or eyeshadow. I can't tell, but Priyanka tells me they are all different things.

  “The Lakme fashion week is in four months. My agent is trying to get me an assignment,” Esha said to Radhika.

  Esha wants to become a model. She's hot, at least according to people at the call center. Two months ago, some agents in the Western Computers bay conducted a stupid poll around the office. People vote for various titles, like who is hot, who is handsome, and who is pretty. Esha won the title of the “hottest chick at Connections.” She was very dismissive of the poll results, but from that day on there's been just a tiny hint of vanity about her. Otherwise, though, she's fine. She moved to Delhi from Chandigarh a year ago, against her parents' wishes. The call-center job gives her a regular income, but during the day she approaches agencies and tries to get modeling assignments. She's taken part in some low-key fashion shows in West Delhi, but apart from that and the hottest-chick-in-house title, nothing big has come her way so far. Priyanka once told me—making me swear that I'd keep it to myself—that she thought Esha would never make it as a real model. “Esha is too short and too small-town to be a real model,” is what she said exactly. But Priyanka doesn't know crap. Esha is 5' 5,” only two inches shorter than me (and one inch taller in her heels). I think that's pretty tall for a girl. And the whole “small-town” thing, that just went over my head. Esha is only twenty-two, give her a chance. And Chandigarh is not a small town, it's a union territory and the administrative capital of two states. But Priyanka's geography is crap as well. I think Priyanka is just jealous. All non-hot girls are jealous of the hot ones. Priyanka wasn't even considered for the hottest chick award. Priyanka is nice looking, and she did get a nomination for the “call-center-cutie award,” which I think is just because of her dimples and cute round face, but she didn't win. Some girl in HR won that.

  We had to pick up Vroom next; his real name is Varun Malhotra (or agent Victor Mell), but everyone calls him Vroom because of his love for anything on wheels.

  The Qualis turned into Vroom's road to find him sitting on his bike, waiting for us.

  “What's the bike for?” I said, craning out of the window.

  “I'm going on my own,” Vroom said, adjusting his leather gloves. He wore black jeans and trekking shoes that made his thin legs look extra long. His dark blue sweatshirt had the Ferrari horse logo on it.

  “Are you crazy?” I said. “It's so cold. Get in, we're late already.”

  Dragging the bike he came and stood next to me.

  “No, I feel stressed today. I need to get it out of my system with a fast ride.” He was standing right beside me and only I could hear him.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing. Dad called. He argued with Mum for two hours. Why did they even separate? They can't live without screaming their guts out at each other.”

  “It's OK, man. Not your problem,” I said.

  Vroom's dad was a businessman who parted from his wife two years ago. He preferred shagging his secretary to being with his family, so Vroom and his mother now lived without him.

  “I couldn't sleep at all. Just lay in bed all day and now I feel sick. I need to get some energy back,” Vroom said as he straddled his bike.

  “But it's freezing …” I began.

  “What's going on, Shyam sahib?” the driver asked. I turned around. The driver looked at me with a puzzled expression and I shrugged my shoulders.

  “He's going on his bike,” I told everyone.

  “Come with me,” Vroom said to me. “I'll get us there in half the time.”

  “No thanks,” I said, and folded my hands. I wasn't leaving the cozy Qualis to get on a bike.

  Vroom bent over to greet the driver.

  “Hello, driver sahib,” Vroom said.

  “Vroom sahib, don't you like my Qualis?” the driver said.

  “No, Driver ji, I'm in the mood for riding my motorbike,” Vroom said, and offered a pack of cigarettes to the driver. The driver took one and Vroom signaled for him to keep the pack.

  “Drive the Qualis if you want,” the driver said and lifted his hands off the steering wheel.

  “No. Maybe later. Right now I need to fly.”

  “Hey, Vroom. Any news on Connections? Anything happening?” Radhika asked, adjusting her hair.

  Apart from the dark circles around her eyes, you could say Radhika was pretty. She had high cheekbones and her fair skin went well with her wispy eyebrows and soot-black eyes. She wore a plain mustard sari, as saris were all she was allowed to wear in her in-laws' house. It was different apparel from the jeans and skirts Radhika preferred before her marriage.

  “No updates. Will dig for stuff today but I think Bakshi will screw us all. Hey, Shyam, the website manual is all done by the way. I e-mailed it to the office,” Vroom said and started his bike.

  “Cool, finally. Let's send it in today,” I said, perking up.

  We left Vroom and moved to our last pickup at Priyanka's place. It was 9:30 p.m., still an hour away from our shift. However, I was worried as Shefali finished her shift and left by 10:20.

  Fortunately, Priyanka was standing at her pickup point when we reached her place.

  “Hi,” Priyanka said as she entered the Qualis and sat next to Esha in the middle row of seats. She carried a large, white plastic bag as well as her usual giant handbag.

  “Hi,” everyone replied except me.

  “I said hi, Shyam,” Priyanka said.

  I pretended not to hear. It's strange, but ever since we broke up, I've found it difficult to talk to her, even though I must think about her thirty times a day.

  I looked at her. She adjusted her dupatta around her neck. The forest green salwar kameez she was wearing was new, I noticed. The colors suited her light brown skin. I looked at her nose and the nostrils that flared up every time she was upset. I swear tiny flames
appeared in them when she got angry.

  “Shyam, I said hi,” she said again.

  “Hi,” I said. I wondered if Bakshi would finally promote me after he saw my website manual tonight.

  “Where's Vroom?” Priyanka said. She had to know everything all the time.

  “Vroom is riding … vroom,” Esha said, making a motorbike noise.

  “Nice perfume, Esha. Shopping again, eh?” Priyanka said and sniffed, puckering up her tiny nose.

  “Escape, Calvin Klein,” Esha announced and struck a pose.

  “Wow! Someone is going designer,” Priyanka said and both of them laughed. This is something I will never understand about her. Priyanka has bitched fifty times about Esha to me, yet when they are together they behave like long-lost sisters.

  “Esha, big date coming?” Radhika said.

  “No dates. I'm still so single. Suitable guys are an endangered species,” Esha said and all the girls laughed. It wasn't that funny if you ask me. I wished Vroom was in the Qualis too. He was the only person in my team I could claim as a friend. At twenty-two he was four years younger than me but I still found it easiest to talk to him. Radhika's household talk was too alien for me, Esha's modeling trip was also beyond me and Priyanka had been a lot more than a friend until recently. Four months ago, we broke up (Priyanka's version) or she dumped me (my version).

  So I was trying to do what she wanted us to do—“move on“—which was why I hung out with Shefali.

  Beep Beep. Beep Beep.

  Two pairs of loud beeps from my shirt pocket startled everyone.

  “Who's that?” Priyanka said.

  “It's my text,” I said and opened the new message.

  Where r u my eddy teddy?

  Come soon—curly wurly

  It was Shefali. She was into cheesy nicknames these days. I replied to the text: