One Night at the Call Center Read online

  “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