One Night at the Call Center Read online

  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