ONE NIGHT (15 page)

Bakshi had not copied us on the email sending out the website proposal.

However, it did not surprise me.

‘Is he a total moron or what? Can’t cc people on an email?’ Vroom said.

‘Easy man. Let’s get back to the bay,’ I said.

#14

We returned from the men’s room. Call flow had resumed at the WASG.

Radhika explained to a caller how to open his vacuum cleaner. Priyanka

advised a lady not to put hot pans in the dishwasher. Esha taught an old man

to pre-heat an oven and simultaneously dodged his telephonic ‘your-voice-is-

so-sexy’ pass.

Another call flashed on my screen.

‘I know this guy. Can I take this call?’ Vroom said.

‘Who is it?’ I raised my eyebrows.

‘A prick called William Fox. Listen in if you want,’ Vroom said.

I selected the option on my computer.

‘Good afternoon, Western Appliances, Victor speaking. Ho may I help

you today, Mr Fox,’ Vroom said.

‘You bloody well help me smart ass,’ the man on the phone said. He had

a rough voice, with a heavy southern American accent; he sounded like he

was in his mid-thirties. I could guess he was drunk.

‘Who is he,’ I whispered, but Vroom shushed me.

‘Sir, if I may confirm, I am speaking to Mr William Fox?’

‘You bet you are. You think just ‘cos you know my name it’s okay to sell

me crap hoovers?’

‘What is the problem with your vacuum cleaner, Sir? It’s a VX-100?’

‘’Sir, do you remember when you last changed the dust bags?’ Vroom

said.

‘Like fuck I remember when you last changed the dust bags. It’s just a

crap machine you dumbass.’

Vroom took three deep breaths. He remembered the suggested line in

such a situation. ‘Sir, I request you to not use that language.’

‘Oh really? Then make your fucking hoover work.’

Vroom pressed a button on his phone before he spoke again.

‘Fuck you first you sonofabitch prickhead…’ he said.

‘What are you doing?’ I said, panicking.

‘Just venting, don’t worry it is on mute,’ Vroom smirked. ‘Back to

normal now.’ He pressed the button again and, trying his best to keep his

tone calm, said, Sir, you need to change the dust bags when they are full.’

‘Who am I speaking to?’ the voice on the phone became agitated.

‘Victor, sir.’

‘Tell me your fucking name. You’re some kid in India, isn’t it?’

‘Sir, I am afraid I can’t disclose my location.’

‘You’re from India. Tell m, boy.’

‘Yes sir. I am in India,’ Vroom gave in.

‘So what did you have to do to get this job? Fucking degree in nuclear

physics?’

‘Sir, do you need help with your cleaner or not?’ Vroom said.

‘C’mon son, answer me. I don’t need your help. Yeah, I’ll change the

dust bag. What about you guys? When will you change your dusty country?’

‘Excuse me, sir, but I want you to stop talking like that,’ Vroom said.

‘Oh really, now some brown kid will tell me what to do— William Fox’s

voice stopped abruptly as I cut off the call.

Vroom didn’t move for a few seconds. His whole body trembled and he

was breathing heavily. Then he placed his elbows on the table and covered his

face with his hands.

‘You don’t have to talk to those people. You know that,’ I said to

Vroom.

The girls glanced at us while still on their calls.

‘Vroom, I’m talking to you,’ I said.

He raised his face and slowly turned to loot at me. Then he banged a fist

on the table. ‘Damn,’ he screamed and kicked hard under the table.

‘What the...’ Priyanka said. ‘Mt call just got cut.’

Vroom’s kick had dislodged the power wires, disconnecting all our calls.

I wanted to check the wires, but had to check on Vroom first. Vroom stood up

and his six-foot-plus frame towered above us.

‘Guys, there are two things I cannot stand,’ he said and showed us two

fingers. ‘Racists. And Americans.’

Priyanka started laughing.

‘What is there to laugh?’ I said.

‘because there is a contradiction. Doesn’t like racists, but can’t stand

Americans,’ Priyanka said.

‘Why?’ Vroom said, ignoring Priyanka. ‘Why do some fat-ass, dim-witted

Americans get to act superior to us? Do you know why?’

‘Nobody answered.

Vroom continued, ‘I’ll tell you why. Not because they are smarter. Not

because they are better people. But because their country is rich and ours is

poor. That is the only damn reason. Because is rich and ours is poor. That is

the only damn reason. Because the losers who have run our country for the

last fifty years couldn’t do better than make India one of the poorest

countries on earth. Great job, thank you, dear great fucking leaders.’

‘Stop overreacting Vroom. Some stupid guy calls and…’ Radhika said.

‘Screw Americans,’ I said and gave him a bottle of water. ‘Look, you’ve

broken down the entire system.’ I pointed to the black call screens.

‘Someone kicked the Americans a bit too hard. No more calls for now,’

Priyanka said, rolling her eyes.

‘Let me take a look,’ I said and went under the table. I was more

worried about the wires tapping the emergency phone. However, they were

intact.

‘Shyam, wait,’ Esha said ‘w have a great excuse for not taking calls. Let

it be for a while.’

Everyone agreed with her. We decided to call systems after twenty

minutes.

‘Why was Bakshi here? I saw him come out of the men’s toilet,’ Priyanka

said.

‘To deliver a courier for Esha,’ I said. ‘And he said there is a team

meeting at 2:30 a.m. Oh man, I still have to Xerox the board meeting invite.’

I assembled Bakshi’s sheets again.

‘What courier,’ Esha said. ‘This?’

She lifted a brown packet that was lying near her computer.

‘Must be,’ Vroom said, ‘though which courier delivers stuff at this

time?’

Esha opened the packet. She took out two bundles of hundred rupee

notes. One bundle had a small yellow post-it note on it. She read the post-it

and her face went pale.

‘Wow, someone’s rich,’ Vroom said.

‘Not bad. What’s the money for?’ Radhika said.

‘It’s nothing. Just a friend returning money she borrowed from me,’

Esha said.

She dumped the packet in her drawer and took out her mobile phone.

Her face was pensive, as if she was debating whether or not to make a call. I

collected my sheets to go to the Xerox room.

‘Want to help?’ I called out to Vroom.

‘No thanks. People I worked with are becoming national TV reporters,

but look at me. Taking calls from losers and being asked to help with loser

jobs,’ Vroom said and looked away from me.

#15

I switched on the Xerox machine in the supplies room and put Bakshi’s

stack in the document feeder. I had just pressed the ‘start’ button on the

agenda document when the copier creaked and groaned to a halt. ‘Paper Jam:

Tray 2’ appeared in big, bold letters on the screen.

The copier in our supplies room is not a machine. It is a person. A

person with a psychotic soul and a grumpy attitude towards life. Whenever

you copy more than two sheets, there is paper jam. After that, the machine

teases you: it gives you systematic instructions on how to un-jam it—
open

cover, remove tray, pull lever
. Now if it knows this much, why doesn’t it fix

itself?

‘Damn,’ I mumbled to myself as I bent down to open the paper trays. I

turned a few levers, and pulled out whatever paper was in sight.

I stood up and rearranged the documents on the feeder tray. I pressed

‘start’ again, not realizing that my ID was resting on Bakshi’s original

document. as the machine re-started, it sucked in the ID along with the

paper. The ID pulled at my strap, which tightened around my neck.

‘Aaarg,’ I said as I chocked. The ID went inside the machine’s guts, and

the strap curled tighter around my neck. I screamed loudly and pulled at my

ID. However, the machine had more strength. I was sure it wanted to kill me—

and probably making a copy of my ID for my obituary while it was as it. I

started kicking the machine hard.

Vroom came running into the room. ‘What the…’ he appeared

nonplussed. He saw A4 sheets spread all over the room, a groaning Xerox

machine, and me lying down on top of the photocopiers, desperately tugging

at my strap.

‘Do something,‘ I said in a muffled voice.

‘Like what?’ he said and bent over to look at the machine. The screen

was flashing the poetic words ‘Paper Jam’. My ID strap ran right into the

machine.

Vroom looked around the supplies room and found a pair of scissors.

‘Should I?’ he said and smiled at me. ‘I really want the others to see

this.’

‘Shut…up…and…cut,’ I said.

Snap! In one snap, my breath came back.

‘Okay now?’ Vroom asked as he threw the scissors back in the supplies

tray.

I nodded as I rubbed my neck and took wheezing breaths. I rested my

head down on the warm, soothing glass of the photocopy machine. I must

have rested it too hard, or maybe my head is too heavy. I heard a crack.

‘Fuck,’ Vroom said, ‘you broke the glass.’

‘What?’ I said as I lifted my head.

‘Get off,’ Vroom said and pulled me off the machine. ‘What is with you

man?’ having a bad office supplies day?’

‘Who knows?’ I said, collecting Bakshi’s document. ‘I really am good for

nothing. Cannot even do these loser jobs. I almost died. Can you imagine the

headline—“Copied decapitates man, duplicates document”.’

Vroom laughed and put his arm around my shoulder.

‘Don’t take tension dude. And I apologize.’

‘For what,’ I said. Nobody has ever apologized to me in the past twenty-

six years of my life.

‘I’m sorry I was rude and didn’t come and help you. First these rumors

about the call center closing down. Then Boontoo makes it to NDTV. And

Bakshi sends the document without copying us. Meanwhile, some psycho

caller screams curses at me. Just gets to you sometimes.’

‘What gets to you?’ I asked. I was trying t copy Bakshi’s document again,

but the Xerox machine was hurling abusive message on the screen every time

I pressed a button. Soon it self-detected a crack in the glass and switched

itself off. I think a committed suicide.

‘Life,’ Vroom said, sitting down on one of the stools in the supplies

room, ‘life gets to you. You think you are perfectly happy—you know, good

salary, nice friends, life is a party—but all of a sudden, in one little snap,

everything can crack, like this stupid glass pane of the Xerox machine.’

I did not fully understand Vroom’s glass pane theory of life, but his face

told me he was upset. I decided to soothe the man who had just saved my life.

‘Vroom, you know what your problem is?’

‘What?’

‘You don’t have real love in your life. You need to fall in love, be in love

and stay in love. That is the gap you are facing,’ I said firmly, as if I really

knew what I was talking about.

‘You think so?’ Vroom said. ‘I’ve had girlfriends. I’ll make another one

soon—you know that.’

‘Not those kind of girls. Someone you really care about. And I think we

all know who that is.’

‘Esha?’ he said.

I kept quiet.

‘Esha is not interested. I have asked her. She has her modeling and says

she has no time for a relationship. Besides, she has other issues with me,’

Vroom said.

‘What issues?’ I said.

‘She says I don’t know what love is. I care for cars and bikes more than

girls.’

I laughed. ‘You do.’

‘That is such an unfair comparison. It’s like asking women that they care

for more, nice shoes or men. There is no easy answer.’

‘Really? So we are benchmarked to footwear?’

‘Trust me, women can ignore men for sexy shoes. But come to the point