One Night at the Call Center Read online

  Priyanka and I gave each other one final glare before we got up to leave.

  “Is Military Uncle needed?” Esha said.

  “No. Just the voice agents,” I said. I looked at Military Uncle at the end of the room. I could see he was busy at the chat helpline.

  “Let's go, Radhika,” Vroom said.

  “Do you think he loves her? Or is it just sex? Some good, wild sex that they share?” Radhika said.

  “You OK, Radhika?” I said.

  “Yes, I'm fine. I'm surprised that I am, actually. I think I must be in shock. Or maybe nobody has taught me an appropriate reaction for this situation. My husband is cheating on me. What am I supposed to do? Scream? Cry? What?”

  “Do nothing for now. Let's just go to the meeting,” Vroom said as we turned to go to Bakshi's room.

  My brain was still fumbling with Priyanka's words— “we had terms and conditions“—as if our breakup was a business contract. Every moment of our last date was replaying itself in my mind as I walked to Bakshi's office. We had gone to a Pizza Hut, and pizzas have never tasted the same since.

  Chapter 23

  My Past Dates with Priyanka—V

  Pizza Hut, Sahara Mall, Gurgaon

  Four months earlier

  SHE ARRIVED ON TIME THAT DAY. After all, she had a purpose. This wasn't a date: We were meeting to formally break up. Actually, there was nothing left in our relationship to break any more. Still, I had agreed, if only to see her face as she told me. She also wanted to discuss how we were to interact with each other and move forward. Discuss, interact, move forward—when you start using words like that, you know the relationship is dead.

  We chose Pizza Hut because it was, well, convenient. For breakups, location takes priority over ambience. She had come to shop in Sahara Mall, where half of Delhi descends whenever there's a public holiday.

  “Hi,” she said and looked at her watch. “Wow! Look, I'm actually on time today. How are you?” She held her shirt collar and shook it for ventilation. “I can't believe it's so hot in July.”

  Priyanka cannot tolerate awkward silences; she'll say anything to fill in the gaps. Cut the bullshit, I wanted to say but didn't.

  “It's Delhi. What else do you expect?” I said.

  “I think most people who come to malls just come for the air-conditioning—”

  “Can we do this quickly?” I said, interrupting her. Consumer motives of mall visitors did not interest me.

  “Huh?” she said, startled by my tone.

  The waiter came and took our order. I ordered two separate small cheese and mushroom pizzas. I did not want to share a large pizza with her, even though, per square inch, it works out cheaper.

  “I'm not good at this breakup stuff, so let's not drag this out,” I said. “We've met for a purpose. So now what? Is there a breakup line I'm supposed to sayr

  She stared at me for two seconds. I avoided looking at her nose. Her nose, I had always felt, belonged to me.

  “Well, I just thought we could do it in a pleasant manner. We can still be friends, right?” she said.

  What is it with women wanting to be friends forever? Why can't they make a clear decision between a boyfriend and no-friend?

  “I don't think so. Both of us have enough friends.”

  “See, this is what I don't like about you. That tone of voice,” she said.

  “I thought we decided not to discuss each other's flaws today. I have come here to break up, not to make a friend or get an in-depth analysis of my behavior.”

  She kept silent until the pizzas arrived on our table. I bit into a slice.

  “Perhaps you forget that we work together. That makes it a little more complicated,” Priyanka said.

  “Like how?”

  “Like if there's tension between us, it will make it difficult to focus on work—for us and for the others,” she said.

  “So what do you suggest? Should I resign?” I said.

  “I didn't say that. Anyway, I'm only going to be at Connections for another nine months. By next year I will have saved enough to fund my B.Ed, so the situation will automatically correct itself. But if we can agree to certain terms and conditions, like if we can remain friendly in the interim …”

  “I can't force myself to be friendly,” I interrupted her. “My approach to relationships is different. Sorry if it's not practical enough for you, but I can't fake it.”

  “I'm not telling you to fake it,” she said.

  “Good. Because you are past the stage of telling me what to do. Now, let's just get this over with. What are we supposed to say? I now pronounce us broken up?”

  I pushed my plate away. I'd completely lost my appetite and felt like tossing the pizza to the end of the room like a Frisbee.

  “What? Say something,” I said. She had gone silent for ten seconds.

  “I don't know what to say,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “Really? No words of advice, no last-minute preaching, no moral high ground in these final moments for your good-for-nothing unsettled boyfriend? Come on, Priyanka, don't lose your chance to slam the loser.”

  She collected her bag and stood up. She took out a hundred-rupee note and put it on the table—her contribution for the pizza.

  “OK, she leaves in silence again. Once again I get to be the prick,” I mumbled, loud enough for her to hear.

  “Shyam,” she said, slinging her bag onto her shoulder.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “You know how you always say you're not good at anything? I don't think that's true, because there is something you are very good at,” she said.

  “What?” I said. Perhaps she wanted to give me some last minute praise to make me feel better, I thought.

  “You are damn good at hurting people. Keep it up.”

  With that, my ex-girlfriend turned around and left.

  Chapter 24

  2:30 a.m.

  WE REACHED BAKSHI'S OFFICE AT 2:30 A.M. The size of a one-bedroom flat, it's probably the largest unproductive office in the world. His desk, on which he has a swanky flat-screen PC, is in one corner, and behind the desk is a bookshelf full of scarily thick management books. Some of them are so heavy you could use them as assault weapons. The thought of slamming one hard on Bakshi's head had often crossed my mind during previous team meetings. Apart from blond threesomes, I think beating up your boss is the ultimate Indian male fantasy.

  At another corner of the room is a conference table and six chairs, and in the center of the table is a speakerphone for multiparty calls with other offices.

  Bakshi was not in his office when we got there.

  “Where the hell is he?” Vroom said.

  “Maybe he's in the toilet?” I said.

  “Executive toilet, it's a different feeling,” Vroom said as I nodded in agreement.

  We sat around Bakshi's conference table. All of us had brought notebooks to the meeting. We never used them, but it always seems necessary to sit in meetings with an open notebook.

  “Where is he?” Priyanka asked.

  “I don't know. Who cares,” Vroom said and stood up. “Hey, Shyam, want to check out Bakshi's computer?” he said as he walked over to Bakshi's desk.

  “What?” I said. “Are you crazy? He'll be here any minute. What can you see so quickly anyway?”

  “Do you want to know what websites Bakshi visits?” Vroom said and leaned over so he could reach the keyboard. He opened up Internet Explorer and pressed Ctrl+H to pull out the history of visited websites.

  “Have you gone nuts? You'll get into trouble,” I said.

  “Come back Vroom,” Esha said.

  “OK, I've just fired a printout,” Vroom said and sprinted across the room to Bakshi's printer. He fetched the printout and leaped back to the conference table.

  “Are you stupid?” I said.

  “OK, guys, check this out,” Vroom said as he held the A4 sheet in front of him. “Timesofindia.com, rediff.com, and then we have Harvard business review