One Night at the Call Center Read online

  He paused and looked at me. His eyes were wet, brown and kind like a puppy's. I could see why girls flocked to him. It was the eyes.

  “I'm going to ask you a question. Will you answer it honestly?” Vroom said.

  “OK.”

  “Are you upset she's getting married? I know you have feelings for her.”

  “No,” I said and started laughing. “I just find it a bit strange. But I wouldn't say I'm upset. That's too strong a word. It's not like we're together any more. No, I'm not upset upset.”

  Vroom waited while I continued to laugh exaggeratedly. When I'd stopped he said, “OK, don't bullshit me. What happened to your re-proposal plans?”

  I remained silent.

  “It's OK, you can tell me.”

  I sighed, “Well, of course I feel for her, but they're just vestigial feelings.”

  “Vesti what?”

  “Like vestigial organs. They serve no purpose or value. But they can give you a pain in the appendix. It's the same with my feelings for Priyanka. I'm supposed to have moved on, but obviously I haven't. Meanwhile, Mr. Indian in Seattle comes and gives me a kick in the rear end,” I said.

  “Talk to her. Don't tell me you're not going to,” Vroom said and exhaled two smoke rings.

  “I was planning to. I thought we'd submit the website user manual and hopefully that would have made it easier for Boston to approve my promotion. How did I know there would be milk cake distribution tonight? How was it by the way? I didn't touch it.”

  “The milk cake was great. Never sulk when food is at stake, dude. Anyway, screw that. Listen, you still have some time. She's only just said yes.”

  “I hope so. Though even as team leader it's hard to compete with Mr. Microsoft,” I said.

  We remained silent for a few more seconds. Vroom spoke again.

  “Yeah, man. Girls are strategic. They talk about love and romance and all that crap, but when it comes to doing the deal, they'll choose the fattest chicken,” he said, and bunched up the leaf ashtray until it looked like a bowl.

  “I guess I can only become fat, not a fat chicken,” I said.

  “Yeah, you need to be fat, fresh, and fluffy. Girls know their stuff. That's why you shouldn't feel so upset. We're not good husband material, just accept it.”

  “Thanks, Vroom, that really makes my day,” I said. I did agree with him though. It was evolution. Maybe nature wanted dimple-cheeked, software-geek mini Ganesh babies. They were of far more value to society than depressed, good-for-nothing junior Shyams.

  “And anyway, it's the girl who always gets to choose.

  Men propose and women accept or, as in many cases, reject it.”

  It's true. Girls go around rejecting men like it's their birthright. They have no idea how much it hurts us. I read once—or maybe saw it during one of my Discovery Channel phases—that the reason for this is that it takes a lot of effort for the female to bear their offspring. Hence they choose their mates carefully. Meanwhile, men dance around, spend cash, make them laugh, write stupid poems, anything to win them over. The only species where courting works in reverse is the sea horse. Instead of the female, the male sea horse bears the offspring: they carry baby sea horse eggs in their pockets. Guess what? The female sea horses are always hitting on the males, while the latter pucker their noses and get to pick the cutest female. I wish I were a sea horse. How hard can it be to carry a couple of eggs in a backpack?

  Vroom interrupted my thoughts.

  “But who knows? Priyanka isn't like other girls, or maybe she is after all. Either way, don't give up, man. Try to get her back.” Vroom patted my shoulder in encouragement.

  “Speaking of getting her back, shouldn't we be heading back to the bay?” I said and looked at my watch. “It's 11:45 p.m.

  As we returned from the parking lot, we passed the Western Computers main bay. The main bay sounded like a noisy school, except the kids weren't talking to one another, but to customers. Monitoring problems, viruses, strange error messages—there was nothing Connections could not help you with.

  “Still looks busy,” I said.

  “Not at all. People have told me call traffic is down forty percent. I think they'll cut a lot of staff or, worst-case scenario, cut everyone and shift the clients to the center based in Bangalore.”

  “Bangalore? What will happen here?” I said.

  “They'll close this poorly managed madhouse down. What else? That's what happens when people like Bakshi spend half their time playing politics with other managers,” Vroom said. He spotted a good-looking girl in the Western Computers bay and pointed her out to me.

  “Close down!” I echoed after studying the pretty girl for half a second. “Are you serious, what will happen to the hundreds of jobs here?”

  “Like they care. You think Bakshi cares?” he shrugged his lanky shoulders.

  “Shit happens in life. It could happen tonight,” Vroom said as we reached the WASG.

  Chapter 9

  12:15 a.m.

  THE SYSTEMS GUY WAS UNDER THE TABLE AGAIN.

  “No calls yet. They've asked for a senior engineer,” Priyanka said.

  “It's an external fault. Some cables are damaged, I think. This area of Gurgaon is going nuts with all the building work,” the systems guy said as he emerged from under the table.

  “Does Bakshi know?” I said.

  “I don't know,” Priyanka said.

  Vroom and I sat down at our desk.

  “It's not too bad. Nice break,” Esha said as she filed her nails with a weirdly shaped nail cutter.

  Priyanka's cellphone began to ring, startling everyone.

  “Who's calling you so late?” Radhika said, still knitting her scarf.

  “It's long distance, I think,” Priyanka said and smiled.

  “Ooooh!” Esha squealed, like a two-year-old on a bouncy castle. What's the big deal about a long-distance phone call? I thought.

  “Hi, Ganesh. I've just switched my phone on,” Priyanka said. “I can't believe you called so soon.”

  I couldn't hear Ganesh's response, thank god.

  “Fifteen times? I can't believe you tried my number fifteen times … so sorry,” Priyanka said, looking idiotic with happiness.

  “Yes, I'm at work. But it's really chaotic today. The systems are down … Hello? … How come you're working on Thanksgiving? Oh, nice of the Indians to offer to work … hello?” Priyanka said.

  “What happened?” Esha said.

  “There's hardly any network,” Priyanka said, shaking her phone as if that would improve the reception.

  “We're in the basement. Nothing comes into this black hole,” Vroom said. He was surfing the Internet, and was on the Formula I website.

  “Use the landline,” Esha said, pointing to the spare phone on our desk. Every team in Connections had a spare independent landline at their desk for emergency use. “Tell him to call on the landline.”

  “Here?” Priyanka asked, looking to me for permission.

  Normally this would be unthinkable, but our systems were down so it didn't really matter. Also, I didn't want to look like a sore loser, preventing a new couple from starting their romance.

  I nodded and pretended to be absorbed by my computer screen. As the ad hoc team leader, I had some influence. I could approve personal calls and listen in on any line on the desk through my headset. However, I couldn't listen in on the independent emergency phone. Not unless I went under the table and tapped it.

  Tap the landline, a faint voice echoed in my head.

  “No, it's wrong,” I said.

  But I could still hear one side of the conversation.

  “Hello … Ganesh, call the landline … yes, 22463463 and 11 for Delhi… Call after ten minutes, our boss might be doing his rounds soon … I know ten minutes is six hundred seconds, I'm sure you'll survive.” She laughed uncontrollably and hung up. When women laugh nonstop, they're flirting.

  “He sounds so cuuute,” Esha said, stretching the last word to fiv
e times its normal length.

  “Enough is enough, I'm going to call Bakshi. We need to fix the systems,” I said and stood up. I couldn't bear the systems guy lurking under the table any more. More than that, I couldn't bear 600-seconds-without-you survival stories.

  I was walking toward Bakshi's office when I noticed him coming toward me.

  “Agent Sam, why aren't you at your desk?” Bakshi said.

  “I was looking for you, sir,” I said.

  “I'm all yours,” Bakshi said as his face broke into a smile. He came and placed his arm around my shoulder.

  Bakshi and I returned to WASG. Bakshi's heavy steps were plainly heard by everyone. Radhika hid her knitting gear under the table. Esha put her nail file in her bag.

  Vroom opened his screen to an empty MS Word document.

  The systems guy came out from under the table and called his boss, the head of the IT department.

  “Looks like we have technology issues here,” Bakshi said and the systems guy nodded his head.

  The head of IT arrived soon after and he and the systems guy discussed geek stuff between themselves in so-called English. When the discussions were over, the IT head ranted out incomprehensible technical details to us. I understood that the system was under strain: 80 percent of the WASG capacity was damaged, and the remaining 20 percent could not handle the current load.

  “Hmmm,” Bakshi said, his left hand rubbing his chin, “hmmm … that's really bad, isn't it?”

  “So, what do you want us to do?” the IT head asked.

  All eyes turned to Bakshi. It was a situation Bakshi hated, where he was being asked to take a decision or recommend action.

  “Hmmm,” Bakshi said and flexed his knees slowly to buy time. “We really need a methodical game plan here.”

  “We can shut down the WASG system tonight. Western Computers main bay is running fine anyway,” the junior IT guy suggested.

  “But WASG has not lost all its capacity. Boston won't like it if we shut the bay,” the IT head said, referring to the Western Computers and Appliances headquarters in Boston.

  “Hmmm,” Bakshi said again and pressed a sweaty palm on my desk. “Upsetting Boston isn't a good idea at this time. We're already on a slippery slope at Connections. Let's try to be proactively oriented here.”

  Vroom couldn't resist a snigger at Bakshi's jargon. He looked away and clenched his teeth.

  “Sir, can I make a suggestion,” I said, even though I should have kept my trap shut.

  “What?” Bakshi said.

  “We could enlist Bangalore's help,” I said, referring to the location of the second Western Appliances and Computers call center in India.

  “Bangalore?” Bakshi and the IT head said in unison.

  “Yes sir. It's Thanksgiving and the call volume is low, so Bangalore will be running light as well. If we pass most of our calls there, it will get busier for them, but it won't overload them. Meanwhile, we can handle a limited flow here,” I said.

  “That makes sense. We can easily switch the flow for a few hours. We can fix the systems here in the morning,” the junior IT guy said.

  “That's fine,” I said. “And people will start their Thanksgiving dinner in the States soon, so call volumes will fall even more.”

  Everyone at the desk looked at me and nodded. Secretly they were thrilled at the idea of an easy shift. Bakshi, however, had fallen into silent contemplation.

  “Sir, you heard what Shyam said. Let's talk to Bangalore. That's our only option,” Priyanka said.

  Bakshi remained silent and pondered for a few more seconds. I would love to know what he's thinking about in these moments.

  “See, the thing is,” Bakshi said and paused again, “aren't we comparing apples to oranges here?”

  “What?” Vroom looked at Bakshi with a disgusted expression.

  I wondered what Bakshi was talking about. Was I the apple? Who was the orange? What fruit was Bangalore?

  “I have an idea. Why don't we enlist Bangalore?” Bakshi said and snapped his fingers.

  “But that's what Shyam—” the junior IT guy began, but Bakshi interrupted him. Poor junior IT guy, he isn't familiar with Bakshi's ways.

  “See, it sounds unusual, but sometimes you have to think outside the box,” Bakshi said and tapped his head in self-admiration.

  “Yes sir,” I said. “That's a great idea. We have it all sorted now.”

  “Good,” the IT guys said and began playing with the computer menus.

  Before the IT guys left, they told us that the WASG call volume would be super-light, maybe even less than twenty calls an hour. We were overjoyed, but kept a straight face before Bakshi.

  “See, problem solved,” Bakshi said and spread his hands. “That's what I'm here for.”

  “Lucky us, sir,” Priyanka said.

  We thought Bakshi would leave, but he had other plans.

  “Shyam, as you are free tonight, can you help me with some strategic documents? It will give you some exposure.”

  “What is it, sir?” I said, not happy about sacrificing my night.

  “I've just printed out ten copies of monthly data sheets,” Bakshi said and held up some documents in his right hand. “For some reason the sheets are no longer in order. There are ten page ones, then page twos and so on. Can you help fix this?”

  “You haven't collated them. You can choose the option when you print,” Vroom said.

  “You can choose to collate?” Bakshi asked, as if we'd told him about an option for brain transplants.

  “Yes,” Vroom said and took some chewing gum from his drawer. He popped a piece into his mouth. “Anyway, it is easier to take one printout and photocopy the rest. It comes out stapled too.”

  “I need to upgrade my technical skills. Technology changes so fast,” Bakshi said. “But Shyam, can you help reorder and staple them this time?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Bakshi placed the sheets on my table and left the room.

  Priyanka looked at me with her mouth open.

  “What?” I said.

  “I can't believe it,” she shook her head. “Why do you let him do that to you?”

  “C'mon, Priyanka, leave Shyam alone. Bakshi runs his life,” Vroom said.

  “Exactly. Because he lets him. Why can't people stand up for themselves?”

  I don't know why I can't stand up for myself, but I definitely can't stand Priyanka's rhetorical questions. She doesn't understand the point, and then asks the world out loud.

  I tried to ignore her. However, her words had affected me. It was difficult to focus on the sheets. I stacked the first set and was about to staple them when Vroom said, “He can't take on Bakshi right now. Not at this time, Priyanka, while they're in the mood for firing people.”

  “Yes, thanks, Vroom. Can someone explain the reality? I need to make a living. I don't have Mr. Microsoft PowerPoint waiting for me in Seattle,” I said and pressed the stapler hard. I missed and the staple pin pierced my finger.

  “Oww!” I screamed loud enough to uproot Military Uncle from his desk.

  “What happened?” Priyanka said and stood up.

  I lifted my finger to show the streaks of blood. A couple of drops spilt onto Bakshi's document.

  The girls squealed “eews” in rapid succession.

  “Symbolism, man. Giving your lifeblood to this job,” Vroom said. “Can someone give this guy a Band-Aid before he makes me throw up?”

  “I have one,” Esha said as the girls came up and surrounded me. Women love to repair an injury, as long as it's not too gruesome.

  “That looks bad,” Esha said, taking out a Band-Aid from her bag. She had fifty of them.

  “It's nothing. Just a minor cut,” I said. I clenched my teeth hard.

  Priyanka took out a few tissues from her bag. She held my finger and cleaned the blood around it.

  “Ouch!” I screamed.

  “Oh, the staple's still in there,” she said. “We need tweezers. Tweezers, any
one?”

  Esha had tweezers in her handbag, which I think she uses to rip her eyebrows out. Girls' handbags hold enough to make a survival kit for Antarctica.

  Priyanka held the tweezers and went to work on my finger with a surgeon's concentration.

  “Here's the culprit,” she said as she pulled out a staple pin drenched in blood. Priyanka wiped my finger and then stuck the Band-Aid on it. With no more bloodletting to see, everyone returned to their seats. I went back to collating sheets.

  Esha and Radhika began talking about Bakshi.

  “He had no idea what IT was saying,” Radhika said.

  “Yeah, but did you see his face?” Esha said. “He looked like he was doing a CBI investigation.”

  I looked at Priyanka. The letters CBI brought back memories. Even as I collated Bakshi's sheets, my mind drifted to Pandara Road.

  Chapter 10

  My Past Dates with Priyanka—II

  Havemore Restaurant, Pandara Road

  Nine months earlier

  SHYAM, ”PRIYAKKA SAID as she tried to push me away. “This is not the place to do these things. This is Pandara Road.”

  “Oh really,” I said, refusing to move away. We were sitting at a corner table, partially hidden by a carved wooden screen. “What's wrong with Pandara Road?” I said, continuing to kiss her.

  “This is a family place,” she said, spreading a palm on my face and pushing me back again, firmly this time.

  “So, families get made by doing these things.”

  “Very funny. Anyway, you chose this place. I hope the food is as good as you said it was.”

  “It's the best in Delhi,” I said. We were in Have- more Restaurant, one of the half-dozen overpriced but excellent restaurants on Pandara Road. We had done enough museums. After the Rail Museum, we had gone to the Planetarium—the dark empty theater with its romantic possibilities was fun, I admit—the Natural History Museum, the Doll Museum and the Science Museum. According to Priyanka, museums offered good privacy, lovely gardens and cheap canteens.

  “A hundred and thirty bucks for dhal!” Priyanka exclaimed as she opened the menu. Her kohl-lined eyes turned wide and her nostrils flared again: her face had the expression of a stunned cartoon character. It was embarrassing, especially as the waiter was already at our table to take the order.