One Night at the Call Center Read online

  “That means people are getting fired, doesn't it?” Vroom said. Rightsize never meant otherwise.

  Bakshi did not respond.

  “Sir, we need to increase our sales force to get new clients. Firing people is not the answer,” Vroom said with a boldness that was high even by his standards.

  Bakshi had a smirk on his face as he turned to Vroom. He put his hand on Vroom's shoulder. “I like your excitement, Mr. Victor,” he said, “but a seasoned management has to study all underlying variables and come up with an optimal solution. It's not so simple.”

  “But sir, we can get more …” Vroom was saying as Bakshi patted his shoulder twice and left.

  Vroom waited to ensure that Bakshi was out of the room before he spoke again.

  “This is insanity. Bakshi's fucked up, so they're firing innocent agents!” he shouted.

  “Stay calm,” I said, and started assembling the sheets.

  “Yes, stay calm. Like Mr. Photocopy Boy here, who finds acceptance in everything,” Priyanka said.

  “Excuse me,” I said looking up. “Are you talking about me?”

  Priyanka kept quiet.

  “What is your problem? I come here, make fifteen grand a month and go home. It sucks that people are being fired and I'm trying my best to save my job. Overall, yes, I accept my situation. And Vroom, before I forget, can you e-mail Bakshi the user manual please?”

  “I'm doing it,” Vroom said as he clicked his mouse, “though what's going on here is still wrong.”

  “Don't worry. We've finished the website. We should be safe,” I said.

  “I hope so. Damn, it will suck if I lose my fifteen grand a month. If I don't get my pizza three times a week I'll die,” Vroom said.

  “You have pizza that often?” Esha said.

  “Isn't it unhealthy?” Radhika asked. Despite her recent text, she was back to knitting her scarf. Knitting habits die hard, I guess.

  “No way. Pizzas are the ultimate balanced diet. Look at the contents: grain in the crust, milk protein in the cheese, vegetables and meat as toppings. It has all the food groups. I read it on the Internet: Pizza is good for you.” “You and your Net,” Esha said. It was true. Vroom got

  all his information off the Internet—bikes, jobs, politics,

  dating tips and, as I had just learned, pizza nutrition as

  well.

  “Pizzas are not healthy. I gain weight really fast if I eat

  a lot of it,” Priyanka said, “especially with my lifestyle. I

  hardly get time to exercise and on top of that I work in a

  confined space.”

  Priyanka's last two words made my heart skip a beat.

  “Confined space” means only one thing to me: that night

  at the 32nd Milestone disco.

  Chapter 12

  My Past Dates with Priyanka—III

  32nd Milestone, Gurgaon Highway

  Seven months earlier

  I SHOULDN'T REALLY CALL THIS ONE a date, since this time it was a group thing with Vroom and Esha joining us. I argued earlier with Priyanka about going out with work people, but she told me I should be less antisocial. Vroom picked 32nd Milestone and the girls agreed because the disco doesn't have a “door-bitch.” According to Priyanka, a door-bitch is a hostess who stands outside the disco, screening every girl who goes in, and if your waist is more than twenty-four inches, or if you aren't wearing something cool, the door-bitch will raise an eyebrow at you like you're a fifty-year-old auntie.

  “Really? I've never noticed those door girls before,” I said as we sat on stools at the bar.

  “It's a girl thing. They size you up, and unless you're drop-dead gorgeous, you get that mental smirk,” Priyanka said.

  “So why should you care? You are gorgeous,” I said. She smiled and pinched my cheek.

  “Mental smirk? Girls and their coded communication. Anyway, drink anyone?” Vroom said.

  “Long Island Iced Tea please,” Esha said and I noticed how stunning she looked in her makeup. She wore a black fitted top and black pants that were so tight she'd probably have to roll them down to take them off.

  “Long Island? Want to get drunk quick or what?” I said.

  “Come on. I need to de-stress. I ran around like mad last month chasing modeling agencies. Besides, I have to wash down last week's one thousand calls,” Esha said.

  “That's right. Twelve hundred calls for me,” Vroom said. “Let's all have Long Islands.”

  “Vodka cranberry for me please,” Priyanka said. She wore camel-colored pants and a pistachio-green sequined kurti. I'd given her the kurti as a gift on her last birthday. She had just a hint of eyebner and a light gloss of lipstick, which I preferred to Esha's Asian Paints job.

  “Any luck with the modeling assignments?” I asked Esha idly.

  “Not much. I did meet a talent agent, though, and he said he would refer me to some designers and fashion show producers. I need to be seen in those circles,” Esha said as she pulled her top down to cover her navel.

  Vroom went to the bartender to collect our drinks while I scanned the disco. The place had two levels: a dance floor on the mezzanine and a lounge bar on the first floor. A remixed version of “Dil Chahta Hai” played in the background. As it was Saturday night, the disco had more than 300 customers. They were all rich, or at least had rich friends who could afford drinks priced at over 300 rupees a cocktail. Our budget was a lavish thousand bucks each: a treat for making it through the extremely busy summer period at the call center.

  I noticed some stick-thin models on the dance floor. Their stomachs were so flat, if they swallowed a pill you'd probably see an outline of it when it landed inside. Esha's looks are similar, except she's a bit short.

  “Check it out. She is totally anorexic. I can bet on it,” Priyanka said, pointing to a pale-complexioned model on the dance floor. She wore a top without any sleeves or neck or collar—I think the girls call it “off-the-shoulder.” Defying physics, it didn't slip off, though most men were waiting patiently.

  The model turned, displaying a completely bare back.

  “Wow, I wish I were that thin. But oh my god, look at what she's wearing,” Esha said.

  “I can't believe she's not wearing a bra. She must be totally flat,” Priyanka said.

  “Girls!” I said.

  “Yes?” Esha and Priyanka turned to me.

  “I'm bored. Can you choose more inclusive conversation topics,” I pleaded. I looked for Vroom who had collected the drinks and was waving maniacally at us for help.

  “I'll go,” Esha said and went over to Vroom.

  Finally, to my relief, it was only Priyanka and me.

  “So,” she said as she leaned forward to peck at my lips. “You're feeling left out with our girlie talk?”

  “Well, this was supposed to be a date. I forced myself to come with them. I haven't caught up with you in ages.”

  “I told you, Vroom asked me and I didn't want to be antisocial,” Priyanka said as she ruffled my hair. “But we'll go out for a walk in a bit. I want to be alone with you too, you know?”

  “Please, let's go soon.”

  “Sure, but they're back now,” Priyanka said as Vroom and Esha arrived. Vroom passed us our drinks and we said “cheers,” trying to sound lively and happy, as people at a disco should.

  “Congrats on the website, guys. I heard it's good,” Esha said as she took a sip.

  “The website is cool,” Vroom said. “The test customers love it. No more dialing. And it's so simple, just right for those spoon-feed-me Americans.”

  “So, a promotion finally for Mr. Shyam here,” Priyanka said. I noticed she had finished a third of her drink in just two sips.

  “Now Mr. Shyam's promotion is another story,” Vroom said. “Maybe Mr. Shyam would like to tell it himself.”

  “Please, man. Some other time,” I said as Priyanka looked at me expectantly.

  “OK, well Bakshi said he is talking to Boston to release a head co