One Night at the Call Center

by Chetan Bhagat

  “Thanks. However, Priyanka, I can't marry you. Sorry to say this, but my answer to your mind-blowing proposal is no,” I said.

  “What?” Priyanka said as her eyes opened wide in disbelief. The guard inside me was in full charge.

  “I can't marry you. I'm a new person tonight, and this new person needs to make a new life and find new respect for himself. You chose Ganesh, and he's fine. You have an option for a new life and you don't really need me, so maybe it's better this way,” I said.

  “I still love you, Shyam, and only you. Please don't do this,” she said, coming closer to me.

  “Sorry,” I said and moved three steps backward. “I can't. I'm not your spare wheel. I appreciate you coming back, but I think I'm ready to move on.”

  She just stood there and cried. My heart felt weak, but my head was strong.

  “Bye, Priyanka,” I gingerly patted her shoulder and left.

  Chapter 37

  6:59 a.m.

  WHAT THE HELL KEPT YOU? ”Vroom said, sitting on his bike at the main entrance. He showed his watch to me, it was 6:59 a.m.

  “Sorry, man, Priyanka met me at the water cooler,” I said and sank onto the pillion seat.

  “And?” Vroom said.

  “Nothing. Just good-bye and all. Oh, and she wanted to get back together and marry me, she said. Can you believe it?”

  Vroom turned to me.

  “Really? What did you say?”

  “I said no,” I said coolly.

  “What?” Vroom said.

  As we were talking, Radhika, Esha, and Military Uncle came out of the main entrance into the wintry sunshine.

  “Hi, you guys still here?” Radhika said.

  “Shyam just said no to Priyanka. She wanted to marry him, but he said no.”

  “What?” Radhika and Esha spoke in unison.

  “Hey, guys, chill out. I did what I needed to do to get some respect in my life. Stop bothering me,” I said.

  The Qualis arrived and the driver pressed the horn.

  “We aren't bothering you—it's your life. Let's go, Esha,” Radhika said and gave me a dirty look. She turned to Esha as they walked to the Qualis.

  “Where's Priyanka, madam? We are late,” the driver said.

  “She's coming. She's on the phone to her mother. Ganesh's parents are going over for breakfast and her mother is making hot parathas,” Radhika said, loud enough for me to hear. The mention of parathas made me hungry, but I'd be the last person to be invited to their breakfast.

  “Looks like their entire families are getting married to each other,” Vroom said. He lit a cigarette and took a few final puffs before beginning our ride back.

  The driver started the Qualis. Esha and Radhika sat in the middle row, while Military Uncle sat behind.

  Priyanka came dashing out of the main entrance, avoided me, and went straight to the front seat. Then the driver turned the Qualis round so its rear end faced us.

  As we began to move off, Military Uncle looked out from his window and said something. I could only lip read but I thought he said, “You bloody idiot.”

  Before I could react, the Qualis was gone.

  Vroom stubbed out his cigarette.

  “Oh no. I am a bloody idiot. I let her go,” I said.

  “Uh-huh,” Vroom said as he put on his helmet.

  “Is that a yes? You think I am a total idiot?”

  “You are your best judge,” Vroom said as he dragged the bike with his feet.

  “Vroom, what have I done? If she reaches home and has parafhas with Ganesh's family, it is all over. I'm such a moron,” I said jumping up and down on my seat.

  “Stop dancing around. I have to get going,” Vroom said as he placed his foot on the kick-pedal.

  “Vroom, we have to catch the Qualis. Can you go fast enough?”

  Vroom removed his helmet and laughed.

  “Are you insulting me? Do you doubt that I can catch that wreck of a Qualis? I am so hurt, man.”

  “Vroom, let's go. Please,” I said and pushed his shoulders.

  “No. First you apologize for doubting my driving abilities.”

  “I'm sorry, boss, I'm sorry,” I said and folded my hands. “Now move, Schumacher.”

  Vroom kick-started his bike, and in a few seconds we had zipped out of the call center. The main road was getting busier as the morning progressed, but Vroom still managed a top speed of ninety. On the road into the city, we dodged cars, scooters, autos, school buses, and newspaper hawkers.

  Four minutes later, I noticed a white Qualis at a distant traffic signal.

  “It must be that one,” I pointed out.

  Just as Vroom moved ahead, a herd of goats decided to cross the road and fifty of them blocked our way.

  “Damn, where did they come from?” I said.

  “This urban jungle of Gurgaon was a village until recently; the goats are probably asking where did we come from,” Vroom said as he cracked his knuckles.

  “Shut up and do something,” I said.

  Vroom tried to move his bike, but bumped into a goat's horns. He considered taking the right side of the road where traffic flowed in the opposite direction, but it was full of trucks and we'd have been mowed down in seconds.

  “There's only one option,” Vroom said and smiled at me through his helmet.

  “Wha—” I said as Vroom lunged his bike up onto the road divider. “Are you crazy?” I said.

  “No, you're crazy to let her go,” Vroom said and started riding along the divider. The goats and drivers looked over at us in shock. Vroom dodged around the streetlights until we'd passed the herd, and once we were back on the road he accelerated to a hundred. One minute later our bike was level with the Qualis at a red light. I got off and tapped the front window. Priyanka looked away, so I banged the glass with my palm.

  She opened the window. “What is it? We don't want to buy anything,” Priyanka said as if I was a roadside vendor.

  “I'm an idiot,” I said.

  “And?” Priyanka said.

  Everyone in the Qualis rolled down their windows to look at me.

  “I'm a moron. I'm stupid, insane, and nuts. Please, I want us to be together again.”

  “Oh really? What about the new man who needs respect?” Priyanka said.

  “I didn't know what I was saying. What does one do with respect? I can't keep it in my pocket,” I said.

  “So you want to keep me in your pocket?” Priyanka said.

  “You're already in every pocket—of my life, my heart, my mind, my soul—please come back. Will you come back?” I said as the red light turned yellow.

  “Hmm. Let's see …,” Priyanka said.

  “Priyanka, please answer fast.”

  “I don't know. Let me think. Meet me at the next red light, OK? Let's go, Driver p? she said as the light turned green. The driver took off at full speed.

  “What did she say?” Vroom said as I sat on the bike.

  “She'll answer at the next red light. Let's go.”

  There was a mini traffic jam at the next red light, so I got off the bike and ran past a few vehicles to reach the Qualis. I tapped the window again but Priyanka wasn't there.

  “Where is she?” I asked the driver, who shrugged his shoulders at me.

  I looked inside the Qualis. Radhika and Esha shrugged their shoulders, too; she wasn't in there.

  Someone came up from behind and hugged me.

  “I told you we didn't want to buy anything. Why are you bothering us?”

  I turned around to look at Priyanka.

  “I didn't know what I was saying at the water cooler,” I said.

  “Shut up and hug me,” Priyanka said and opened her arms.

  Our eyes met, and even though I wanted to say so much, our eyes did all the talking. I hugged her for a few seconds and then she kissed me. Our lips locked, and every passenger in the traffic jam looked on, enjoying the early morning spectacle. It was awkward to kiss in such a public setting, but I couldn't extract
myself: After six months apart there was a lot of pent-up feeling. Vroom and everyone else from the Qualis surrounded us, and soon they began to clap and whistle, then all the vehicles on the road joined in, applauding with their horns. But I couldn't see them or hear them. All I could see was Priyanka, and all I could hear was my inner voice saying, “Kiss her, kiss her, and kiss her more.”

  Chapter 38

  WELL, GUYS, THAT'S HOW THAT NIGHT, and my story, ends. We couldn't know what, how, or when things would happen, but that's what life's like: uncertain, screwed up at times, but still fun. However, let me tell you where we were one month after that night. Vroom and I started our website design company with the seed capital Bakshi had given us. We called it the Black Sheep Web Design Company. In a month, we had only managed to get one local order, but it helped us break even, or show a profit, depending on whether Vroom charged his cigarettes to the company or not. No international orders yet, but we shall see.

  Esha gave up her modeling aspirations and continued to work at the call center, but now she works for a nongovernmental organization during the day. Her job is to fundraise from the corporate sector and I heard she's doing well. I guess male executives can't resist a hot woman asking for money for a good cause. Most of them are probably staring at her navel ring while they sign the check. Apart from that, Vroom's asked her out for a coffee on a semi-date—whatever that means—next week and I think she said yes.

  Military Uncle got a visa for the U.S. and went over to make amends with his son. He hasn't come back, so things must be working out. Radhika is fighting her divorce case with her husband and has moved in with Esha. She is also planning to visit her own parents for a while. Anuj has apologized, but Radhika is in no mood to relent yet.

  Priyanka still works at Connections, but in six months' time she plans to go to college for an accelerated one-year B.Ed. We decided that marriage is at least two years away. We meet often, but our first focus is her career. Her mother faked three heart attacks when Priyanka said no to Ganesh, but Priyanka yawned every single time until her mum gave up and closed the Ganesh file.

  So it looks like things are working out. As for me as a person, I still feel the same for the most part. However, there is a difference. I used to feel I was a good-for-nothing non-achiever. But that's not true. After all, I helped save a lot of jobs at the call center, I taught my boss a lesson, started my own company, and was chosen over a big-catch Indian groom from Seattle by a wonderful girl. This means that i) I can do whatever I really want, ii) God is always with me, and iii) there is no such thing as a loser after all.

  Epilogue

  WOW, “I SAID, “SOME STORY THAT WAS.” She nodded, and took a sip of water from her bottle, holding it tight so it didn't spill in the moving train.

  “Thank you,” I said, “it made our night go by pretty quickly.”

  I checked the time; it was close to 7:00 a.m. and our journey was almost over. Delhi was less than an hour away. The train was tearing through the night, and on the horizon I could see a streak of saffron light up the sky.

  “So, did you like it?”

  “Yes, it was fun. But it also made me think. I went through a similar phase to Shyam, at work and in my personal life. I wish I'd heard this story earlier—it might have made me do things differently, or at least would have made me feel less bad.”

  “There you go. It's one of those rare stories that's fun but can help you as well. And that's why I am asking you to

  share it. Are you ready to turn it into a book?” she said, replacing the cap on the water bottle.

  “I guess. It will take some time, though,” I said.

  “Of course. And I will give you all the people's details. Feel free to contact them if you want. Through which character will you tell the story?”

  “Shyam. Like I said, his story's a lot like mine. I can relate to him because I had similar problems—my own dark side.”

  “Really? That's interesting,” she said. “It's true, though, we all have a dark side—something we don't like, something that makes us angry, and something we want to change about ourselves. The difference is how we choose to face it”

  I nodded. The train rocked in a soothing, gentle motion and we were silent until I spoke after a few minutes.

  “Listen, sorry to say this, but there's one issue I think readers may have with this story”

  “What?”

  “The conversation with God.”

  She smiled.

  “Where's the issue with that?” she said.

  “Well, it's just that some people may not buy it. One has to present reality in a story. Readers always say, ‘Tell me what really happened’ So in that context, how is God calling going to fit in?”

  “Why? Don't you think that could happen?” she said, shifting in her seat. Her blanket moved, uncovering a book I hadn't noticed before.

  “Well, I don't know. It obviously doesn't happen very often. I mean, things need to have a rational, scientific explanation.”

  “Really? Does everything in life work that way?”

  I guess.

  “Well, let's see. You said you didn't know why, but you could really relate to Shyam. What's the scientific and rational explanation for that?”

  I thought for a few moments, but I couldn't think of a suitable answer.

  She saw me fidgeting and looked amused.

  “Please try and understand,” I said. “Calls from God don't happen often. How can I write about it?”

  “OK, listen. I'm going to give you an alternative to God's phone call. A rational one, OK?” she said and put her bottle away.

  “What alternative?” I said.

  “Let's rewind a bit. So they drove into a pit and the Qualis was trapped, suspended by rods, right? Are you OK with that part?”

  “Right. I can live with that,” I said.

  “And then they felt the end was near. There was no hope in life, literally and figuratively. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” I said.

  “OK,” she continued, “so let's just say that at that moment Military Uncle spoke up saying, T noticed you guys are in an unusual situation here, so I thought I should intervene and give you some advice.'”

  “That's exactly what God said,” I said.

  “Correct. And from that point on, whatever God said, you can reword as if Military Uncle had said it—all the stuff about success, the inner call, and all those other things.”

  “Really? Is that what happened?” I said.

  “No. I didn't say that. I just said you have the option to do that, so that everything appears more scientific, more rational. Do you understand my point?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “So, you choose whichever version you want in the main story. It will, after all, be your story”

  I nodded.

  “But can I ask you one question?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Which of the two is a better story?”

  I thought for a second.

  “The one with God in it” I said.

  “Just like life. Rational or not, life is better with God in it”

  I reflected on her words for a few minutes. She became silent and I looked at her face. She looked even lovelier in the light of dawn.

  “Well, it looks like were nearly in Delhi” she said and looked out. There were no more fields, only the houses in Delhi's border villages.

  “Yeah, the trip is over,” I said. “Thanks for everything, er, let me guess, Esha, right?” I stood up to shake her hand.

  “Esha? Why did you think I was her?”

  “Because you re so good-looking.”

  “Thanks” She laughed. “But sorry, I'm not Esha.”

  “So? Priyanka?” I said.

  “No.”

  “Don't tell me, Radhika?”

  “No, I'm not Radhika, either,” she said.

  “Well then, who are you?”

  She just smiled.

  That's when it struck me. She was
a girl, she knew the full story, but she wasn't Esha, Priyanka, or Radhika. Which meant there was only one alternative left.

  “So … that means… Oh my…” My whole body shook as I found it difficult to balance. Her face shone and our compartment was suddenly filled with bright sunlight.

  I looked at her and she smiled. She had an open book next to her. It was the English translation of a holy text. My eyes focused on a few lines on the page that lay open:

  Always think of Me, become My devotee, worship Me and offer your homage unto Me. Thus you will come to Me without fail. I promise you this because you are My very dear friend.

  “What?” I said as I felt my head spin. Maybe my sleepless night was catching up on me. But she just smiled, raised her hand, and placed it on my head.

  “I just don't know what to say,” I said in the blinding light.

  A sense of tiredness engulfed me and I closed my eyes.

  When I opened them, the train had stopped and I knelt on the floor with my head down. The train was at Delhi station. The cacophony of porters, tea sellers, and passengers rang in my ears. I slowly looked up at her seat, but she was gone.

  “Sir, are you getting off on your own or do you need help?” A porter tapped my shoulder.

  Acknowledgments

  Just hang on a minute here, in case you're thinking this is just my book. It's never one person's book alone, and in my case, so many people supported me. In particular, I would like to thank:

  Shinie Antony—for her scrutiny and standards when she gives me feedback. She is my mentor, guru, and friend.

  My call-center cousins, sisters-in-law, and friends— Ritika Sarin, Shweta Sarin, Akhil Sarin, Nikhil Sarin, Nithin, and Jessica. Without you, this book would not exist. Thank you for helping me snoop around call centers at night, for providing information, stealing various training materials, and arranging meetings with so many people.

  One particular ex-boss—my life when I worked for him was living hell; it was probably the worst phase of my life. I used to wonder why it was happening to me. Now I know: Without that experience I couldn't have written this book. Thank you, Mr. Ex-boss, for making me suffer. On the same note, I want to thank all the women who rejected me—too many to name here. Without them I would not have known the pain of rejection.