As we were walking in, the bouncer frisked us. I finally understood his function. When he'd done us, he approached Priyanka.
“What?” I said to the bouncer.
“I need to check this lady,” he said. “She looks like a troublemaker.” He towered over Priyanka.
And then, I'm not sure how it happened but the following words came out of my mouth.
“You're not touching her, you understand,” I said.
The bouncer was startled and he turned to me. He had biceps the size of my thighs and I shuddered to think how much it would hurt if he delivered a punch.
“What's up now?” the hostess came toward us.
“Nothing, just teach your Mr. Tarzan out here how to behave in female company,” I said and pulled at Priyanka's hand. In a second we were inside.
The interior design of Bed was a cross between Star Trek and a debauched king's harem, illuminated by ultraviolet bulbs and candles. As my eyes adjusted to the semidarkness I noticed two rows of six beds. Only five were occupied, so I couldn't understand the big fuss at the entrance. I guess it's never easy to get people into bed.
We chose a corner bed, which had two hookahs next to it.
“Why is the hostess so nasty?” Esha said as she hoisted herself onto the bed. She took two cushions to rest her elbows on. “Did you hear her? ‘Go somewhere else.’ Is that how you treat customers?”
“It's their job. They're paid to be nasty. It gives the place attitude,” Vroom said carelessly as he lit up a hookah. I looked at the hot, smoldering coals and thought of Ganesh. I don't know why, but I thought it would be fun to drop some down his trousers.
“I want a job that pays me to be nasty. All they tell us in the call center is, ‘Be nice, be polite, be helpful,’ but being mean is so much more fun,” Radhika said and reclined along one of the cushions. For someone who had just had a really tough night she looked good, although I'm not sure it's possible to look ugly in ultraviolet candlelight. I wondered how a moron called Anuj could cheat on her.
Only Esha and Radhika got to lie down. The rest of us sat cross-legged on the bed.
Vroom went to say hi to DJ Jas, who was playing some incomprehensible French-African-Indian fusion music, and returned with twelve kamikaze shots. Military Uncle declined, and we didn't protest as it meant more alcohol for us. Vroom took Uncle's extra shots and drank them in quick succession.
We had barely finished our kamikazes when another thin woman—a Bed speciality—came up to us with another six drinks.
“Long Island Iced Teas,” she said, “courtesy of DJ Jas.”
“Nice. You have friends in the right places,” Radhika said as she started gulping her Long Island like it was a glass of water. When you don't get to drink on a regular basis, you go crazy at the chance.
“These Long Islands are very strong,” I said after a few sips. I could feel my head spin. “Easy, guys,” I said, “our shift isn't over. We said one quick drink, so let's make our way back soon.”
“Cool it, man. Just one last drink,” Vroom said as he ordered another set of cocktails.
“I'm feeling high,” Priyanka said. “I'm going to miss this. I'm going to miss you guys.”
“Yeah, right. We'll see when you move to Seattle. Here, guys, try this, it's apple flavored,” Vroom said as he took a big drag from the hookah. He passed it around, and everyone, except Military Uncle, whose expression was growing more resigned by the minute, took turns smoking it. DJ Jas's music was mellow, which went well with the long drags from the hookah.
There were two flat LCD screens in front of our bed, one tuned to MTV and the other to CNN. A Bollywood number was being played on MTV, as part of its “Youth Special” program and a girl was gradually stripping off her clothing as the song progressed. The news breaking on CNN was about the U.S. invasion of Iraq. I noticed Vroom staring at the news.
“Americans are sick,” Vroom said, as he pointed to a U.S. politician who had spoken out in support of the war. “Look at him. He'd nuke the whole world if he could have his way.”
“No, not the whole world. I don't think they'd blow up
China,” Priyanka said, sounding high. “They need the cheap labor.”
“Then I guess they won't blow up Gurgaon either: They need the call centers,” Radhika said.
“So we're safe,” Esha said, “that's good. Welcome to Gurgaon, the safest city on earth.”
The girls started laughing and even Military Uncle smiled.
“It's not funny, girls. Our government doesn't realize this, but Americans are using us. We're sacrificing an entire generation to service their call centers,” Vroom said, convincing me that one day he could be a politician.
Nobody responded.
“Don't you agree?” Vroom said.
“Can you please stop this trip …” I began. As usual, I was put on mute.
“C'mon, Vroom. Call centers are useful to us, too,” Esha said. “You know how hard it is to make fifteen grand a month outside. And here we are, sitting in an air-conditioned office, talking on the phone, collecting our pay and going home. And it's the same for hundreds and thousands of us. What's wrong with that?”
“An air-conditioned sweatshop is still a sweatshop. In fact, it's worse, because nobody sees the sweat. Nobody sees your brain getting rammed,” Vroom said.
“Then why don't you leave? Why are you still here?” I said.
“Because I need the money. Money is what gets me into places like this,” Vroom said.
“It's just Bakshi. You're worked up about him and now you're blaming it on the call center,” I said.
“Screw Bakshi, he is not the only bad boss around. Come on, the whole world is being run by a bad, stupid-evil boss,” he said, pointing to CNN. “Look at them, scared out of their guts, ready to bomb everyone. Meanwhile, all we do is talk on the phone all night while the world snores,” Vroom said.
“Stop complaining about night work. Doctors do it, hotel people do it, airplane pilots do it, factory workers… hell, even that door-bitch works at night,” Priyanka said.
“There's nothing wrong with working at night. And I agree the money is good. But the difference is, we don't have jobs that allow us to show our potential. Look at our country, we're still so behind the Americans. Even when we know we are no less than them,” Vroom said, gesturing wildly at the TV screen.
“So? What other kinds of jobs are there?” Esha said with a hairclip in her mouth. She had begun the ritual of untying and retying her hair.
“Well, we should be building roads for a start. Power plants, airports, phone networks, metro trains. And if the government moves its rear end in the right direction, young people in this country will find jobs. Hell, I would work day and night for that, as long as I know that what I'm doing is helping build something for my country, for its future. But the government doesn't believe in doing any real work, so they allow these Business Process
Outsourcing places to be opened and think they have taken care of the youth. Just like stupid MTV thinks showing a demented chick do a dance in her underwear will turn the program into a youth special. Do you think they really care?”
“Who?” I said. “The government or MTV?” I got up and signaled for the check—in bars you always ask for the “check,” never the “bill.” It was 3:50 a.m. and I had had enough of Vroom's lecture. I wanted to get back to the call center soon.
Vroom paid the bill with his credit card and we promised to split it later.
“Neither of them give a fuck,” Vroom said as we left.
The door-bitch and the bouncer gave us a puzzled look as we walked out.
Chapter 28
4:00 a.m.
VROOM DROVE US AWAY FROM BED and we were soon back on the highway. Every now and then the Qualis would sway to the left or right of the road.
“Careful,” Esha said. “You OK, Vroom?”
“I'm fine. Man, I love driving,” Vroom said dreamily.
“I can drive if you …” I s
aid.
“I said I'm fine,” Vroom said in a firm voice. A few minutes later we passed by Sahara Mall, the biggest shopping mall in Gurgaon. Vroom brought the Qualis abruptly to a halt.
“I feel nauseous,” Vroom said. I think we were all feeling a little nauseous after Vroom's erratic driving.
“Whatever you do, don't throw up in the Qualis. The driver will kill you,” Esha said.
Vroom rested his head on the steering wheel and the horn blew loud enough to wake up the street dogs.
“Let's go for a walk, Vroom,” I said and tapped his shoulder. We got out of the Qualis.
I made Vroom walk around the perimeter of the Sahara Mall. We passed by several billboards: a smiling couple who had just bought a toothbrush; a group of friends giggling over their mobile phones; a family happily feeding their kid junk food; a young graduate jumping with joy, clutching a credit card; a girl holding seven shopping bags and beaming. All the ads had one thing in common: Everyone looked incredibly happy.
“What the hell are they so happy about?” Vroom said. “Look at that toothbrush couple. My mum and dad were never that happy.”
“Just take deep breaths and walk in a straight line, Vroom. You're drunk,” I said.
“I'm fine,” he said, “but Mum and Dad … Shyam, why do they hate each other so much?”
“Grown-ups, man, they are way more complicated than we are. Don't even try figuring them out,” I said.
Vroom stopped walking and straightened up. He told me to pause as well, and continued, “Think about this: The people who gave birth to me can't stop hating each other. What does that tell you about me? Half my genes must be fighting with the other half. No wonder I'm so fucking messed up.”
“We're all messed up, man, let's go,” I said and prodded his shoulders.
He walked faster to be a few steps ahead of me.
At the corner of Sahara Mall we passed by a Pizza Hut. It was closed. Vroom stood in front of it. I wondered if he'd really gone crazy; was he expecting pizza at this time?
We loitered near the entrance. To our right was a thirty-foot-wide metal billboard of a cola company. A top Bollywood actress held a drink bottle and looked at us with inviting eyes, as if a fizzy drink was all it took to get her into bed.
Vroom walked up to the actress's face.
“What's up, dude?” I said.
“You see her?” Vroom said, pointing to the actress.
I nodded.
“There she is, looking at us like she's our best friend. Do you think she cares about us?”
“I don't know. She's a youth icon, man,” I shrugged my shoulders.
“Yes, youth icon. This airhead chick is supposed to be our role model. Like she knows a fuck about life and gives a fuck about us. All she cares about is cash. She just wants you to buy this black piss,” Vroom said, pointing to the cola bottle.
“Black piss?” I said and smiled. I sat down on some steps nearby.
“Do you know how much sugar there is in one of those drinks?” Vroom said.
I shook my head.
“Eight spoons of sugar in every bottle—and nothing else. And yet they convince us it's important. It isn't.”
Vroom looked around and noticed a pile of bricks. He lifted one and threw it hard at the cola sign. Bang! It hit the actress's cheek, creating a dimple you would almost think was natural. She was still smiling.
“Careful, for fuck's sake. Let's go back. Someone will see us and get us arrested.”
“Like I care. Nobody cares,” Vroom said and staggered toward me. I looked at his lanky outline in the streetlights. “The government doesn't care for anybody,” he continued. “Even that ‘youth special’ channel doesn't care. They say ‘youth’ because they want the Pizza Huts, Cokes and Pepsis of the world to advertise on their channel. Ads that tell us if we spend our salary on pizza and Coke we'll be happy. Like young people don't have a fucking brain. Tell us what crap to have and we'll have it.”
Vroom sat down in front of the Pizza Hut steps. “Shyam,” he said, “I'm going to throw up.”
“Oh no,” I said and moved three feet away from him.
“Unnh …” Vroom said as he threw up. Puke spread outside the entrance like a 12” thin-crust pizza with special toppings.
“Feeling better?” I said as I carefully helped him up. Vroom nodded.
He stood up, jerked his shoulders free from me and lifted another brick. He hurled it high, and with one wide swing smashed it into the Pizza Hut restaurant. Crash! A window shattered and bits of glass fell down like a beautiful ice fountain. An alarm began to ring.
“Damn! Vroom, have you gone mad? Let's get the hell out of here,” I said.
Vroom was startled by the alarm as well, and his body sprang to attention.
“Fuck, let's run,” Vroom said, and we sprinted toward the Qualis.
“I thought you liked pizza,” I said when we reached the Qualis.
“I like pizza. I love it. I like jeans, mobiles, and pizzas. I earn, I eat, I buy shit and I die. That's all the fuck there is to Vroom. It's all bullshit, man,” Vroom said, panting and holding his stomach. He didn't look too good, but at least the run seemed to have sobered him up.
“Seriously, dude, can I drive now?” I said, as Vroom opened the front door of the Qualis. He was taking noisy, heavy breaths.
“No way, man,” Vroom said and pushed me away.
The car jerked ahead as Vroom turned on the ignition while it was in gear.
“Are you OK?” Esha said.
Vroom nodded and raised his hand in apology. He waited for a few seconds, and then started the engine carefully. He promised to drive slowly and soon we were on the road again.
“Did you like Bed?” Vroom said, more to change the topic from his inebriated state.
“Great place,” Esha said, “just the kind of high I needed. Hey, Vroom, have you got any music in the Qualis?”
“Of course. Let me see,” Vroom said and shuffled through the glove box. He took out a tape and held it up. “Musafir Lounge?” he said.
“Cool,” Esha and Radhika said.
“No,” Priyanka and I said at the same time.
“Come on, guys. You two not only hate each other, you hate the same things, too?” Vroom said and smiled. He put the tape in and turned on the music. A song called “Rabba” started playing.
We sat in the same order as before, except this time I sat next to Priyanka. With every beat of the song, I could feel her body along my entire right side, like soft electric sparks. I had the urge to grab her hand again, but restrained myself. I opened the window for some fresh air.
“Don't open the window,” Esha said, “it's cold.”
“Just for a minute,” I said and let the breeze in.
I focused on the lyrics of the song. The singer spoke of why no beloved should ever enter his life. That if one did, she should damn well stay and never leave. Somehow the lyrics were too close to my heart. But I was more worried about the next song. It was “Mahi Ve,” which would bring back memories of the 32nd Milestone parking lot.
I saw Priyanka's face change from the corner of my eye. She looked nervous. Yes, this was going to be hard.
“I love this song,” Vroom declared as it filled the Qualis.
I pressed the rewind-and-play button in the privacy of my head. Every moment of that night at 32nd Milestone replayed itself. I remembered how Priyanka had sat on my lap, stubbed my toe, and hit her head on the roof. I recalled every little second of her careful, slow and yet amazing lovemaking. I missed her breath on my stubble, her eyes when they looked into mine, the pleasurable pain when she bit my ears. What is it about music that makes you remember things you'd prefer to forget? I wished I'd been promoted. I wished Priyanka had never left me. I wished my world were a happier place.
I turned my face to look outside. The breeze felt cold, particularly along two lines on my cheeks. I touched my face. Damn, I couldn't believe I was crying.
“Can we please close
the window now? It's ruining my hair,” Esha said.
I slid the window shut and I tried to keep my eyes shut as well, but I couldn't hold back the tears. I never realized I was such a wuss.
I looked at Priyanka. Maybe it was my imagination, but her eyes seemed wet too. She turned toward me and then quickly looked away. I couldn't bear to meet her eyes right now, and I certainly couldn't look at that nose.
Vroom pulled out two tissues from the tissue box in front and swung his arm back to hand them over to us.
“What?” I said.
“I have a rearview mirror. I can see everything,” he said.
“We can all see,” Radhika and Esha said together and burst out laughing.
“You keep driving, OK?” I said. I took the tissue on the pretext of wiping my nose, and then wiped my eyes. Priyanka took one and swabbed her eyes, too.
Esha reached behind her seat and rubbed Priyanka's arm.
“You guys are funny. Remind me again how you met in college?” Vroom said.
“Forget it,” I said.
“C'mon, Shyam, just tell. You guys never told me,” Radhika said.
“At the campus fair,” Priyanka and I spoke at the same time.
I looked at her. We gave each other a formal smile.
“You tell them,” Priyanka said.
“No, you. You tell it better,” I said.
Priyanka sat up straight to tell a story we had told a hundred times but never tired of repeating.
“We met at the campus fair in the second year. Both of us had stalls. Mine was on female empowerment and showed slides of problems faced by rural women in India. Shyam had a video games counter. However, nobody was coming to visit either of us—people just headed for the food stalls.”
“Then?” Esha said, her eyes focused on Priyanka.
“Then Shyam and I made a deal that we would visit each other's stalls six times a day. Shyam would come and see slides on hardworking farm women and female education programs, and I would go and play Doom II on the PlayStation at his stall. By the end of the fair I was so good I could beat him,” Priyanka said.
“No way,” I said. “I can take you on at Doom II any day.”
One Night at the Call Center Page 16
