One Night at the Call Center

by Chetan Bhagat

  “Just order, OK?” I said in a hushed voice.

  Priyanka took five more minutes to place the order. Here is how she decides. Step one: Sort all the dishes on the menu according to price. Step two: Re-sort the cheaper ones based on calories.

  “One naan, no butter. Yellow dhal,” she said as I glared at her.

  “Okay, not yellow, black dhal,” she said. “And …”

  “And one shahi paneer,” I said.

  “You always order the same thing, black dhal and shahi paneer,” she made a face.

  “Yes, same girl, same food. Why bother experimenting when you already have the best?” I said.

  “You are so cute,” she said. Her smile made her eyes crinkle. She pinched my cheeks and fed me a little vinegar-onion from the table. Hardly romantic, but I liked it.

  She moved her hand away quickly when she saw a family being led to the table adjacent to us. The family consisted of a young married couple, their two little daughters and an old lady. The daughters were twins, probably four years old.

  The entire family had morose faces and no one said a word to each other. I wondered why they had bothered to go out when they could be grumpy for free at home.

  “Anyway,” Priyanka said, “what's the news?”

  “Not much, Vroom and I are busy with the troubleshooting website.”

  “Cool, how's it coming along?”

  “Really well. Nothing fancy, though, the best websites are simple. Vroom even checked out sites meant for mentally handicapped people. He said if we can model it on them, Americans will surely be able to use it.”

  “They're not that stupid.” Priyanka laughed. “Americans invented computers, remember?”

  The waiter arrived with our food.

  “Yeah, there are ten smart guys in America. The rest call us at night,” I said as I tore off a piece of naan and dipped it in the dhal.

  “I agree the people who call us are pretty thick. I'm like, figure out where the power button is, hello?” she said.

  She put micro-portions of food on her plate.

  “Eat properly,” I said. “Stop dieting all the time like Esha.”

  “I'm not that hungry,” she said as I forcefully gave her human portions of food.

  “Hey, did I tell you about Esha? Don't tell anyone,” she said, her voice dipping, eyebrows dancing.

  I shook my head. “You love to gossip. Don't you? Your name should be Miss Gossip FM 99.5,” I said.

  “I never gossip,” she said, waving a fork at me solemnly. “Oh my god, the food is so good here.”

  My chest inflated with pride as if I had spent all night cooking the dishes myself.

  “Of course you love to gossip. Whenever someone starts with ‘don't tell anyone,’ that to me shows a juicy tidbit of gossip is coming,” I said.

  Priyanka blushed and the tip of her nose turned tomato red. She looked cute as hell. I would have kissed her right then, but the grumpy family next to us was beginning to argue and I didn't want to spoil the somber ambience for them.

  “OK so maybe I gossip, but only a little bit,” Priyanka relented. “But I read somewhere, gossip is good for you.”

  “Oh really?” I teased.

  “Yes, it's a sign you're interested in people and care for them.”

  “That is so lame,” I burst out laughing, pointing my spoon at her. “Anyway, what about Esha? I know Vroom has the hots for her, but does she like him?”

  “Shyam, that is old news. She's rejected Vroom's proposal before. The latest is that she had signed up for the Femina Miss India contest. Last week she got a rejection letter because she wasn't tall enough. She is five-five and the minimum is five-six. Radhika saw her crying in the toilet.”

  “Oh wow! Miss India?”

  “Come on, she's not that pretty. She should really stop this modeling thing. God, she is so thin, though. OK, I'm not eating any more.” She pushed her plate away.

  “Eat, stupid. Do you want to be happy or thin?” I said, pushing her plate back toward her.

  “Thin.”

  “Shut up, eat properly. The name of the restaurant should tell you something. And as for Esha, well too bad Miss India didn't work out. However, trying doesn't hurt,” I said.

  “Well, she was crying. So it hurt her. After all, she's come to Delhi against her parents' wishes. It's not easy struggling alone,” she said.

  I nodded.

  We finished our meal and the waiter reappeared like a genie to clear our plates.

  “Dessert?” I said.

  “No way. I'm too full,” Priyanka said, placing her hand on her neck to show just how full. She is way too dramatic sometimes, just like her mum. Not that I dare tell her that.

  “OK, one kulfi please,” I said to the waiter.

  “No, order gulab jamun,” she said.

  “Huh? I thought you didn't want … OK, one gulab jamun please.”

  The waiter went back into his magic bottle.

  “How's your mum?” I said.

  “The same. We haven't had a cry fest since last week's showdown, so that alone is a reason to celebrate. Maybe I will have half a gulab jamun.”

  “And what happened last week?”

  “Last week? Oh yes, my uncles were over for dinner. So picture this, dinner ends and we are all having butterscotch ice cream at the dining table. One uncle mentioned that my cousin was getting married to a doctor, a cardiac surgeon or something,” Priyanka said.

  The waiter came and gave us the gulab jamun. I took a bite.

  “Ouch, careful, these are hot,” I said, blowing air out. “Anyway, what happened then?”

  “So I'm eating my ice cream and my mother screams ‘Priyanka, make sure you marry someone well settled.’ ” The latter phrase was said in falsetto.

  “I'm going to be a team leader soon,” I said and fed her a slice of gulab jamun.

  “Relax, Shyam,” Priyanka said as she took a bite and patted my arm. “It has nothing to do with you.

  The point, is how could she spring it on me in front of everyone? Like, why can't I just have ice cream like the others? Why does my serving have to come with this hot guilt sauce? Take my younger brother, nobody says anything to him while he stuffs his face.”

  I laughed and signaled for the bill.

  “So what did you do then?” I said.

  “Nothing. I slammed my spoon down on the plate and left the room.”

  “You're a major drama queen,” I said.

  “Guess what she says to everyone then? ‘This is what I get for bringing her up and loving her so much. She doesn't care. I nearly died in labor when she was born, but she doesn't care.’”

  I laughed uncontrollably as Priyanka imitated her mother. The bill arrived and my eyebrows shot up for a second as I paid the 463 rupees.

  We stood up to leave and the grumpy family's voices reached us.

  “What to do? Since the day this woman came to our house, our family's fortunes have been ruined,” the old woman was saying. “The Agra girl's side were offering to set up a full clinic. I don't know where our brains were then.”

  The daughter-in-law had tears in her eyes. She hadn't touched her food, while the man was eating nonchalantly.

  “Look at her now, sitting there with a stiff face. Go, go to hell now. Not only did you not bring anything, now you have dumped these two girls like two curses on me,” the mother-in-law said.

  I looked at the little girls. They had identical plaits with cute pink ribbons in them. The girls were each holding one of their mother's hands and they looked really scared.

  Priyanka was staring at them. I noticed they had ordered delicious, cold kulfi and wondered if I should have done the same and at least saved my scalded tongue.

  “Say something now, you silent statue,” the mother-in-law said and shook the daughter-in-law's shoulders.

  “Why doesn't she say anything?” Priyanka whispered to me.

  “Because she can't,” I said. “When you have a bad boss, you can't s
ay anything.”

  “Who will pay for these two curses? Say something now,” the mother-in-law said as the daughter-in-law's tears came down faster and faster.

  “I'll say something,” Priyanka shouted, facing the mother-in-law.

  The grumpy family turned to look at us in astonishment. I looked for a deep hole to hide myself from the embarrassment.

  “Who are you?” the husband asked, probably his first words during the entire meal.

  “We'll worry about that later,” Priyanka said, “but who the hell are you? Her husband I presume?”

  “Huh? Yes I am. Madam, this is a family matter,” he said.

  “Oh really? You call this a family? Doesn't look like a family to me,” Priyanka said. “I just see an old shrew and a loser wimp upsetting these girls. Don't you have any shame? Is this what you married her for?”

  “See, she's another one,” the mother-in-law said. “Look at the girls of today: They don't know how to talk. Look at her, eyes made up like a heroine's.”

  “The young girls know how to talk and behave. It's you old people who need to be taught a lesson. These are your granddaughters and you are calling them a curse?” Priyanka said, her nose an even cuter red than before. I wanted to take a picture of that nose.

  “Who are you, madam? What is your business here?” the husband said, this time in a firmer voice.

  “I'll tell you who I am,” Priyanka said and fumbled in her handbag. She took out her call-center ID card and flashed it for a nanosecond. “Priyanka Sinha, CBI, Women's Cell.”

  “What?” the husband said in half-disbelief.

  “What is your plate number?” Priyanka said, talking in a flat voice.

  “What? Why?” the bewildered husband asked.

  “Or should I go outside to check,” she said and glanced at the keys on the table. “It's a Santro, isn't it?”

  “DGI 463. Why?” the husband said.

  Priyanka took out her cellphone and pretended to call a number. “Hello? Sinha here. Please retrieve records on DGI 463 … yes … Santro … thanks.”

  “Madam, what is going on?” the husband said, his voice quivering.

  “Three years. Harassing women is punishable by three years. A quick trial, no appeal,” Priyanka said and stared at the mother-in-law.

  The old woman pulled one of the twin granddaughters onto her lap.

  “What? Madam, this is just a f-f-f-family affair and—” the husband stammered.

  “Don't say family!” Priyanka said, her voice loud.

  “Madam,” the mother-in-law said, her tone now sweet, as if someone had soaked her vocal cords in gulab jamuns, “we are just here to have a meal. I don't even let her cook see, we just had—”

  “—Shut up! We have your records now. We will keep track. If you mess around, your son and you will have plenty of meals together—in jail.”

  “Sorry, madam,” the husband said with folded arms. He asked for the bill and fumbled for cash. Within a minute they had paid and left.

  I looked at Priyanka with my mouth open.

  “Don't say anything,” she said, “let's go.”

  “CBI?” I said.

  “Don't. Let's go.”

  We sat in the Qualis I had borrowed from the call-center driver.

  “Stupid old witch,” Priyanka said. I started to drive. Five minutes later, Priyanka turned to me. “OK, you can say what you want now.”

  “I love you,” I said.

  “What? Why this now?”

  “Because I love it when you stand up for something you feel strongly about. And that you do such a horrible job of acting like a CBI inspector. I love it when you want to order the cheapest dishes only because I'm paying for them. I love the kohl in your eyes. I love it when your eyes light up when you have gossip for me. I love it that you say you don't want dessert and then ask me to change mine so you can have half. I love your stories about your mother. I love it that you believe in me and are patient about my career. Actually, you know what, Priyanka?” I said.

  “What?”

  “I may not be a heart surgeon, but the one little heart I have, I have given it to you.”

  Priyanka laughed aloud and put her hand on her face.

  “Sorry,” she said and shook her head, still laughing. “Sorry, you were doing so well, except for the heart surgeon line. Now, that is seriously cheesy.”

  “You know what,” I said and removed one hand from the steering wheel to tweak her nose. “They should put you in jail for killing romantic lines.”

  Chapter 11

  12:30 a.m.

  I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS, ”Radhika said and threw her mobile phone on her desk, breaking up my Pandara Road dream.

  Everyone turned to look at her. She covered her face with her hands and took a couple of deep breaths.

  “What's up?” Priyanka said.

  “Nothing,” Radhika said and heaved a sigh. She looked upset, but also younger at the same time. Five years ago, Radhika must have been pretty, I thought.

  “Tell us,” Esha said.

  “It's Anuj. Sometimes he can be so unreasonable,” she said and passed her phone to Esha. On the screen was a text message.

  “What is it?” Priyanka said.

  “Read it out,” Radhika said as she fumbled through her bag for her anti-migraine pills. “Damn, I only have one pill left.”

  “Really? OK,” Esha said and started reading the mes- sage: “Show elders respect. Act like a daughter-in-law should. Goodnight.”

  “What did I do wrong? I was in a hurry, that's all,” Radhika mumbled to herself as she took her pill with a sip of water.

  Esha put a hand on her shoulder.

  “What happened?” Esha asked softly. Women do this so well: a few seconds ago she was squealing in excitement over Ganesh, now she was whispering with concern over Anuj.

  “Anuj is in Kolkata on tour. He called home and my mother-in-law told him, ‘Radhika made a face when I told her to crush the almonds more finely.’ Can you believe it? I was running to catch the Qualis and still made time to prepare her milk,” Radhika said and started to press her forehead.

  “Is this what mother and son talk about?” Priyanka said.

  Radhika continued, “And then she told him,'I am old, if the pieces are too big they will choke my food pipe. Maybe Radhika is trying to kill me.' Why would she say something so horrible?”

  “And you're still knitting a scarf for her?” Vroom said, pointing at the knitting needles.

  “Trust me, being a daughter-in-law is harder than being a model,” Radhika said. The pill was starting to have an effect and her face looked calm again. “Anyway, enough of my boring life. What's up? Is Ganesh calling soon or what?”

  “Are you OK?” Esha said, still holding Radhika's arm.

  “Yes, I'm fine. Sorry guys, I overreacted. It's just a little miscommunication between Anuj and me.”

  “Looks like your mother-in-law likes melodrama. She should meet my mother,” Priyanka said.

  “Really?” Radhika said.

  “Oh yes. She is the Miss Universe of melodrama. We cry together at least once a week. Though today she's on cloud nine,” Priyanka said, pulling the landline closer to her.

  My attention was diverted by a call flashing on my screen.

  “I'll take it,” I said, raising my hand. “Western Appliances, Sam speaking, how may I help you?”

  It was one of my weird calls of the night. The caller was from Virginia and was having trouble defrosting his fridge. It took me four long minutes to figure out the reason. It turned out the caller was a “big person,” which is what Americans call fat people, and his fingers were too thick to turn the tiny knob in the fridge's compartment that activates the defrosting mechanism. I suggested that he use a screwdriver or a knife and fortunately that solution worked after seven attempts.

  “Thank you for calling Western Appliances, sir,” I said and ended the call.

  “More politeness, agent Sam. Be more courteous,” I he
ard Bakshi's voice and felt his heavy breath on my neck.

  “Sir, you again?” I said and turned around. Bakshi's face was as shiny as ever. It was so oily, he probably slipped off his pillow every night.

  “Sorry, I forgot something important,” he said. “Have you guys done the Western Computers website manual? I am finally sending the project report to Boston.”

  “Yes sir. Vroom and I finished it yesterday,” I said and took out a copy from my drawer.

  “Hmm,” Bakshi said as he scanned the cover sheet.

  Western Computers Troubleshooting Website

  User Manual and Project Details

  Developed by Connections, Delhi

  Shyam Mehra and Varun Malhotra

  (Sam Marcy and Victor Mell)

  “Do you have a soft copy that you can e-mail me?” Bakshi said. “Boston wants it urgently.”

  “Yes, sir,” Vroom said, pointing to his computer, “I have it stored here. I'll send it to you.”

  “Also, did you do the collation, Sam?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said and passed him the ten sets.

  “Excellent. I empowered you, and you delivered the output. Actually, I have another document, the board meeting invite. Can you help?”

  “What do I have to do?” I said.

  “Here's a copy,” Bakshi said and gave me a five-page document. “Can you photocopy ten copies for me please? My secretary is off today.”

  “Er. Sure, sir, just photocopying, right?”

  Bakshi nodded.

  “Sir,” Vroom said, “what's the board meeting for?”

  “Nothing, just routine management issues,” Bakshi said.

  “Are people going to get fired?” Vroom asked, his direct question making everyone spring to attention.

  “Er …” Bakshi said, as usual, lost for words when asked something meaningful.

  “There are rumors in the Western Computers main bay. We just want to know if we will be fine,” Vroom said.

  “Western Appliances won't be affected, right?” Esha said.

  Bakshi took a deep breath and said, “I can't say much. All I can say is we are under pressure to rightsize ourselves.”

  “Rightsize?” Radhika asked in genuine confusion.