“Heard you couldn't sleep last night, RK,” she said in her tantalizing, casual way.
I hunted for words, and fumbled. “I slept fine, otherwise how could I reach office so early.”
“You mean you're calling from the office?”
“Yes…”
“Hang up immediately. It’s unethical, RK. Use your money to call me later from outside the office. You earn well enough now to be able to afford personal calls.”
“But I have permission,” I explained lamely.
“Don't fib. You have physical access to the phone, that's all, not the permission to make personal long distance calls to India whenever you want to talk about love. Remember I also work in an office, RK, which happens to be a US multinational company too, so I know how the system works. Office would allow you perhaps a call or two to your family in India after you land in USA and maybe another in case of an emergency when you’re on a trip abroad. That’s all. This is neither.”
“Hey, don't drop the line,” I shrieked. “Okay, I'll call you at the same time tomorrow with my money. No more misuse of office resources. But you didn't answer my emails,” I reminded, hoping to justify my call from the office.
She didn't bother to explain why she hadn't responded to my emails, and simply said, “I'm busy and don't have so much time like you in office. Enough for today- hang up now, Romeo.”
That was my introduction to ethical behavior in the office. Beneath her hood of beauty lay something more than a successful businesswoman. Her words had sounded so similar to my father's. He’d taught me ethical values too but somewhere along greed and miserliness and the innate urge to misuse opportunities when nobody watched had claimed me like most other unscrupulous victims. It was so easy to talk against corruption, but easier to fall prey to greed and lust once out of earshot and away from prying eyes.
I fell prey to misusing the office phone and had Shalini not checked me in a timely manner, over the years the jackpot might have magnified in size and I might have ended up like the other thieves of the corporate world who dressed suavely in a suit and tie, spoke the choicest English words, occupied senior positions, but hoodwinked the company to embezzle funds on the sly.
I called up our departmental secretary immediately after Shalini disconnected the line and asked how to pay for the few calls to India I’d made from the office since the calls had been personal in nature. She guided me on the process, and before hanging up complemented me:
“You're one of the few, I daresay the first Indian in my experience, who's offered to pay up for personal calls made on the sly.”
I wanted to object to her use of the word 'sly', but felt embarrassed by what she’d said about the rest of the Indians and quickly put down the intercom. She was actually right about making such calls on the sly. They evidently kept track of the telephone calls on a monthly or weekly basis, though they usually didn’t launch an official investigation for everything. How stupid of me. They obviously kept track.
What an impression they must have formed of us desis! We talked of lofty value systems and criticized corruption, but lost little chance to engage in the same activities ourselves according to the size of the opportunity available. So when I called up Shalini the next morning from a public kiosk I felt proud and clean.
“From the office again?” she demanded.
“No! I’m on my way to the office, calling from a roadside kiosk,” I replied hurriedly, holding the mouthpiece pointed towards the road in the hope that she’d hear the bustling traffic outside.
I didn't want her to remember the episode when the time of reckoning came for her to officially tie the knot with her groom. I still considered myself in the fray for a hopeful marriage berth, since she’d herself proposed the last time. That trip to Bangalore seemed like it had taken place a hundred years ago, in a dream. She seemed to have entirely forgotten about it and I’d started having nightmares, harboring doubts of late whether she’d finally marry me. She seemed to have grown aloof again, and hardly took pains to stay in touch. If I too stopped contacting her, we stood to lose each other for good. Did she want that?
“Are you getting bored there?” she asked. “You called me up three times in two days- during office hours.”
“Missing you would be more appropriate,” I replied defensively.
“Grow up, RK.”
“But I love you, Shalini,” I said hurriedly, before she could interrupt. “You said we'd marry. I can't wait. I miss you a lot.”
“We can talk about all that later,” she said without enthusiasm. What had happened to her? “I'm right now in the middle of an investment report I’m preparing for a presentation to the management tomorrow. Shall we talk some other day, RK? I'm busy right now.”
“But-”
“I gather you don't have much pressing work in office, so you should be able to call me again tomorrow. Okay?”
“Of course,” I managed to sound casual but it broke my heart. I hoped she’d ponder over our discussion and understand my desperate state of mind.
Sometimes I felt she was outright dumb to miss all the love signs I threw her way. She was wasting her time pursuing official chores and in the process missing all the beautiful things in life. Either that- or, she was plain not interested in me anymore and before long would realize her mistake of proposing to me. Did she remember her trip to Bangalore to profess her love? Would she really pursue her matrimonial interests? How romantic and un-Shalini like she’d acted during that trip.
After office that evening I went to a departmental store and roamed around with a roving eye, trying to identify available women. It would serve her right if I had an affair during my trip, like the encounters PS had described. I might find a Kathy too. Unfortunately, I’d not been brought up that way and soon lost my way. Resigned, I returned to my hotel room alone. I wondered how she’d react if I did find a woman and brought her to my room to spend the night. Well, I’d failed to find a woman tonight, but this didn't have to be my last attempt.
I couldn't help wondering if Shalini had found someone smart and dashing at her office. She was beautiful and smart herself, and many would fall for her. She earned a handsome salary too, which would attract a lot of other suitors. In any case, she was obviously ignoring me.
I returned from USA, and then went there again. And again. The novelty of the wide roads, slick furnished apartments and slicker hotels soon wore off. The plush carpets in the hotels, deep mattresses and select furniture in the suites, the dingy smell of bread and snacks permeating the breakfast hall- everything started appearing drab after a while, to be taken for granted, even to a middle class person like me from a developing nation steeped in debt. The lure of shopping for electronic gadgets and perfumes at the malls faded too. I was getting fed up with my travel routine and staying away from Shalini. It seemed so many ages had passed since she had proposed marriage. At least a few years had definitely passed.
“When do we marry?” I asked her in exasperation on one of my subsequent trips from Bangalore to Delhi.
“The day you get a job in Delhi,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone, as if it was a forgone conclusion. At least she didn’t say ‘no’. It seemed our marriage was still on, though I found it difficult to believe her seriousness.
In any case, it was a new hurdle. “Why didn't you say so before? And what’s wrong with Bangalore? You've lived there too when you studied MBA.”
“There's nothing wrong with Bangalore. But we can’t keep going back and forth in India between different states.”
“Why? It’s all within the same country.”
“Do you really feel like that? I feel each state behaves like a different country here. At the rate our rulers are dividing up the country creating newer, smaller states, I wouldn’t be surprised if indeed we became many different countries eventually- regressing back to our ancient, divided history once again.”
I nodded silently. She did have a point, the way the political scenario was panning ou
t.
“If you register and pay road tax for a car in Delhi and take it to Bangalore, the RTO’s office would harass you to transfer the registration to their state,” she continued. “I feel disgusted at the thought of people asking bribes.”
“I agree that there should be a single- one time- registration of cars and payment of taxes in our country. Otherwise, what’s the use of being a single country? Each state might as well have been a country if you’re asked to pay the same taxes in multiple states. If something as vital as income tax or as common as telephone is accessible by an individual over online portals these days, then ownership rights of cars should be editable online too with regard to change of the owner’s address and issuance of new number plates.”
She gave a brief nod. “Anyway, car transfer is just one small issue, there are scores of others, besides the ethnic divide that makes you feel that there are so many countries nestled in one,” she said in a flustered voice. “I sometimes feel it’s easier to relocate to USA than to a different state in India.” She considered my crestfallen face and softened her tone. “Of course, we could marry there as well, but let’s leave all these arguments aside.” She turned up her beautiful face and said sweetly, “I request you to come down to Delhi, please. For my sake. Can’t I ask such a small favor from you?”
My heart melted at her child-like request and I quickly nodded. She held up her hand before I could start daydreaming.
“But I need some more time, you see- to settle down into my job and responsibilities.”
“How long does one need to settle into a job?” I asked. “You’ve been at your job for several years already. Why do you need more time?”
“Everything will become clear later, baby- some things simply take time. I've set myself certain goals, you see.”
“So?”
“Well, as I said, some goals take time to fulfill.”
“What if I get a job in Delhi next week?” I challenged.
“Then we marry next week. I'm known to be true to my word,” she announced regally.
I took her assurance at face value and plunged right away into a job hunt after returning to Bangalore. From one US company manufacturing computers I landed into another there, called Dynamic Machines or DM for short, with the condition from my side that I’d join the company only if posted at Delhi. DM was primarily into manufacturing hardware but I joined their global software services organization. The company was one of the largest in the world, with hundreds of thousands of employees worldwide. It had more than seventy thousand employees in India itself, with the bulk of them in software maintenance and global software services.
Padam Singh tried hard to retain me back in Eleny. He spoke to his HR partner to offer me an irresistible retention package with a promotion too, but I had set my mind on DM already. It was more important for me to go to Delhi.
DM’s job offer didn’t promote me from a first line to a second manager. I continued at DM at the same level that I’d attained at Eleny, that of a first line manager. It was a small sacrifice for me to make such a lateral movement without promotion during my change over from Eleny to DM since I was posted to Delhi. The posting was crucial. My new employer, Dynamic Machines, was a big company headquartered in the US, with sprawling offices in multiple locations in India and hardly minded such a trivial condition from my side.
Interestingly, my boss's boss hired me and allowed me to operate from Delhi much to my immediate boss's dislike. Jayanth Oisa, my immediate boss at DM, was unable to voice his dissent openly. In the south, that's how they spelt names. Jayant in the north assumes a trailing 'h' to become Jayanth if he’s a southerner.
“The trailing ‘h’ in the names here differentiates them from the same names without ‘h’ up north,” my MSITian boss, Padam Singh or Pads had once explained during a tête-à-tête. “I don’t think there’s any other connotation to the extra ‘h’.”
“I realized that,” I said in prompt agreement. “Someone I know suggested the trailing ‘h’ used here might stand for ‘holy’ because of the strong religious culture prevalent in these parts.”
He gave an odd smile but said nothing. In retrospect I recalled that someone had also cautioned me when I first went to Bangalore that some other biases might be prevalent there too. Though I didn’t believe in such things I remained wary. I might not believe in it, but that wouldn’t stop others from practicing it if they were so conditioned.
Apart from such considerations, I’d already given my immediate boss at DM, Jayanth added ammunition to plot against me by directly reaching an agreement with his boss during my interview to post me at Delhi. Well, I didn't care. What mattered was that I’d be near Shalini again. I could handle other situations later as they arose. For the present I had the support of Sadhana, his boss and didn't look any further. I was on my way to Delhi- to Shalini and our marriage!
Shalini was the first person I called from Bangalore to inform about the offer from DM. But she avoided taking my call. Whenever I called her at home I mostly ended up talking to Ragini and learned about the various singing competitions she’d participated in college. I was hardly interested in her singing career but to keep the conversation going, ended up telling her how I had myself learned a bit of music composition on the computer.
“What a waste of talent, RK,” she remarked on one of my calls. “You should leave your job and take the plunge to publish music CDs instead.” As an afterthought she added, “Actually you might become a good doctor too. Everyone in our family remembers how you treated me. We’d given up hope that I’d ever recover. My fever didn’t seem to subside. I still remember the name of the medicine you prescribed- Ferrum Arsenicum.”
Did she take me for a fool to chuck a golden career after obtaining foothold in the high paying IT industry, following a long period of internal confusion? Now- when everything had started falling into place and I was hopefully about to marry the girl of my dreams- this girl was suggesting I leave my job and pursue a musical or medical career. Her mother didn’t take me seriously either, always thinking I was out of job. What did that family take me for? Was I a clown?
“Just curious, did your mother finally appreciate how I cured your fever?” I asked.
There was silence at her end.
“Anyway,” I said quickly. “Forget it. When is Shalini back?”
“She’s not gone anywhere. Why did you ask?”
“Then why doesn’t she answer my calls?”
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” she said casually. “Okay, I’ll ask her to call you back.”
But Shalini didn’t call me. By now I’d bought a cellphone and shared the number with her over email. She already had a cellphone of her own but for some reason never shared the number with me, citing official reasons, otherwise I’d have sent her a sms too. On one of my recent trips to the US I had also purchased an expensive video camera. I could hardly wait to film her.
My matrimonial situation looked discouraging however. Earlier it used to always be Shalini or her father who answered the phone when I called. Of late, whenever I called to talk to her, I was almost sure Ragini would answer the line, and invariably she did. She’d ask about my computer music composition as if I had nothing better to do with my time! I humored her along, but always ended up feeling unsure if she was the one actually humoring me.
At last the day came when I jumped on the first flight to Delhi after getting my posting letter from DM. Earlier I used to travel by trains, and felt good to note my rapid upward climb in financial and social status, though I couldn’t dwell for long on these achievements in my present frame of mind. I was restless to meet Shalini. Matters of the heart could never progress satisfactorily over phone. Face to face I’d resolve every last confusion and uncertainty and also get her cellphone number. Who wanted to call up her house phone and talk to everyone else but her?
I was determined to fix a date for our wedding. It had been the single most, burning ambition of my life so far. As my cab re
ached home, I peered eagerly at her house hoping to catch sight of her. But the blinds were drawn and there was no one on the balcony.
It was late in the evening when I reached as I’d taken the last business flight out of Bangalore. I had little choice but to wait till the next day before ringing her doorbell. But I couldn’t ring her doorbell the next day as I had to leave early the next morning to locate my Gurgaon office.
On my first day in the office I learned that most offices in Gurgaon were powered by builders with privately owned diesel generator sets for the majority of the time. Power supply was extremely erratic. Often power supply remained disrupted for hours together.
The electricity power situation was absolutely dismal in the city. There were often up to twenty hours of power outages in domestic houses. I was glad I stayed in Delhi, though there too the summers saw several hours of power outages every day. Fortunately father had installed an inverter in the house that managed to provide power to run two tube lights and a fan for four to six hours in the event of a power outage. But it was inadequate to fight the insurmountable summer heat. If the situation in modern cities was so dismal, I wondered how pathetic it was in lesser known cities and villages. The citizens were quite powerless in this country in every sense of the word.
In this way my initial days in Delhi passed quickly, beyond my control. Soon, it was a week since I’d landed, but Shalini continued ignoring my emails. I had even dropped her a couple before starting from Bangalore and several more since my arrival in Delhi. I reminded her of her promise to marry me the day I landed in Delhi. But she didn't answer any of those. Wasn't she receiving them? By any chance was the spam filter of her office network hyperactive and diverting my emails to her spam or trash folder?
I was at my wits’ end, left with no idea other than keeping on trying her residence phone to take a chance. I didn't want to land at her doorstep yet, only to be turned away by her mother. So I started getting up early in the mornings and furtively peeped out of our balcony to keep a watch on her house and the road below. Finally I was rewarded one day. I saw her drive out in a car to office. So she’d purchased a car. Strange that she didn’t mention it when we discussed about shifting and re-registering cars from one state to another. Ironically, my father had sold his old, shuddering second hand car just sometime ago before it capsized or hurt anyone. But this car was shining and appeared new.
Will She Be Mine? Page 16
