ONE NIGHT (2 page)

interesting and has a nice pair of eyes and looks like she can tell me a story to

kill time. However, it does not mean I will spend two years of my life turning

it into a book.

‘Like a full book? Are you kidding? I can’t promise that. It’s a lot of

work,’ I said.

‘Up to you,’ she said and turned silent.

I waited for ten seconds. She did not speak.

‘Can’t I decide after you tell me the story?’ I said. ‘If it is interesting, I

may even do it. But how can I decide without listening to it?’

‘No. it is most about choice. If I tell you, you have to write it,’ she said.

‘A whole book…?’ I asked again.

‘Yes. Like it’s your own story. In first person—just like in your first

book. I’ll give you the contacts of the people in the story. You can meet them,

do your research, whatever it takes, but make it your second book.’

‘Well then, I think it’s better if you don’t tell me,’ I said on her berth,

and then arranged her pillow and blanket. I guesses she was planning to go to

sleep.

I checked my watch again. It was 1:00 a.m., and I was still wide awake.

This was a non-stop train, and there were no stations to look forward to until

Delhi in the morning. She switched off the flickering yellow light. Now the

only light in the compartment was an errie blue one; I couldn’t figure out

where the bulb was. It felt strange, like we were the only two people in the

universe.

As she was sliding under her blanket, I asked, ‘What is the story about?

At least tell me a little bit more.’

‘Will you do it then?’

I shrugged in the semi-darkness. ‘Can’t say. Don’t tell me the story yet

—just tell me what it is about.’

She nodded and sat up. Folding her legs beneath her, she began talking.

‘All right, she said, ‘It is a story about six people in a call center as one

night.’

‘Just one night? Like this one?’ I interrupted.

‘Yes, one night. One night at the call center.’

‘You sure that can be a full book? I mean, what is so special about this

night?’

She heaved a sigh and took a sip from her bottle of mineral water.

‘You see,’ she said, ‘it wasn’t like any other night. It was the night

there was a phone call.’

‘What?’ I said and burst out laughing. ‘So a call center gets a phone cal.

That is the special part?’

She did no smile back. She waited fro me to stop laughing and then

continued as if I hadn’t said anything. ‘You see, it wasn’t an ordinary phone

call. It was the night…it was the night there was a phone call from God.’

Her words had me spring to attention.

‘What?’

‘You heard me. That night there was a phone call from God,’ she said.

‘What exactly are you talking about?’

‘I just told you what the story was about. You asked, remember?’ she

said.

‘And then… how… I mean…’

‘I’m not telling you anymore. Now you know what it’s about, if you want

to hear the story, you know my condition.’

‘That is a tough condition,’ I said.

‘I know. Up to you,’ she said and lifted her blanket again. She lay down

and closed her eyes.

Six people. One night, call center. Call from God. The phrases kept

repeating in my head as another hour passed. At 2:00 a.m. she woke up to

have a sip of water.

‘Not sleeping?’ she asked, with eyes only half open.

Maybe there was a voltage problem, but this time even the blue light in

the compartment started flickering.

‘No, not sleepy at all, I said.

‘Okay, goodnight anyway, she said, and began to lie down again.

‘Listen,’ I said. Got up. Sit down again.’

‘Huh?’ she said, rubbing her eyes. ‘Why? What happened?’

‘Nothing. You tell me what happened. Tell me the story’ I said.

‘So you will write it?’

‘Yes,’ I said, with a bit of hesitation.

‘Good,’ she said, and sat up again. The cross-legged position was back.

The rest of the night, she told me the story that begins from the next

page. It is a story about six people, three guys and three girls who worked as

the Connexions Call Center. I choose to tell the story through Shyam’s eyes.

This is because, after I met him, I found him the most similar to me as a

person. The rest of the people and what happened tat night—well, I will let

Shyam tell you that.

FROM #29

Otherwise? Esha Said.

‘Otherwise we die,’ Vroom said.

We stayed quiet for a minute.

‘Everyone dies one day,’ I said, just to break the silence.

‘Maybe it is simpler this way. Just end life rather than deal with it,’

Vroom said.

I nodded. I was nervous and I was glad Vroom was making small talk.

‘My main question is– what if no one finds us even after we die. What

happens then?’ Vroom said.

‘The vultures will find us. They always do. I saw it on Discovery

Channel,’ I said.

‘See, that makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like the idea of sharp beaks

rearing my muscles, cracking my bones and ripping me to shreds. Plus, my

body will be smelling like hell. I’d rather be burnt in a dignified manner and

go up in that one last ultimate puff of smoke.’

‘Can you guys stop this nonsense? At least be silent,’ Esha said and

folded her arms.

Vroom smiled at her. Then he turned to me. “I don’t thinking Esha will

smell too much. Her Calvin Klein perfume will keep her carcass fresh for

days.’

#1

I was splashing my hands in the water pointlessly in the sea. I can’t even

swim in a pond, let alone in the Indian Ocean. I was in the water while my

boss Bakshi was in a boat next to me. He was pushing my head down in the

water. I saw Priyanka drifting away in a lifeboat. I screamed even as Bakshi

used both his hands to keep my head submerged. Salt water filled my mouth

and nostrils as I heard loud beeps at a distance.

My nightmare ended as my cell phone alarm rang hard in my left ear and

I woke up to its Last Christmas ring tone. The ring tone was a gift from

Shefali, my new semi-girlfriend. I squinted through a half-shut eye and lifted

on the screen.

‘Damn,’ I said and jumped out of bed.

I would have loved to analyze my dream and its significance in my

insignificant life, but I had to get dressed for work.

‘Man, the Qualis will be here in twenty minutes,’ I thought, digging

matter out of my eye. I was still tired, but scared to sleep more because I was

getting late. Besides, there was a serious risk of Bakshi making a comeback in

my dreams.

By the way, hi. I am Shyam Mehra, or Sam Marcy as they call me at my

workplace, the Connexions call center in Gurgaon. (American tongues have

trouble saying my real name and prefer Sam. If you want, you can give me

another name too. I really don’t care.)

Anyway, I am a call center agent. There was hundred of thousands,

probably millions of agents like me. But this total pain-in-the neck author

chose me, of all the agents in the country. He met me and told me to help

with his second book. In fact, he near as well wanted me to write the book for

him. I declined, saying I can’t even write my resume or even other simple

things in life, there is no way I can write a whole damn book. I explained to

him how my promotion to the position of team leader had been put off for

one year because my manager Bakshi had told me I don’t have the ‘required

skill-set’s yet. In my review, Bakshi wrote that I was ‘not a go-getter’. (I don’t

even know what ‘go-getter’ means, so I guess I’m not one for sure.)

But this author said he didn’t care—he had promised someone he’d do

this story so I’d better cooperate, otherwise he would keep pestering me. I

tried my best to wriggle out of it, but he wouldn’t let go of me. I finally

relented and that’s why I’m stuck with this assignment, while you are stuck

with me.

I also want to give you one more warning. My English is not that great—

actually, nothing about me is great. So, if you are looking for something posh

and highbrow, then I’d suggest you read another book which has some big

many-syllabus words. I know only one big, many-syllable word, and I hate that

word—‘management’. But we’ll get to that later. I told the author about my

limited English. However, the pain-in-the-neck author said big emotions do

not come from big words. So, I had no choice but to do the job. I hate

authors. For now, let us go back to the story. If you remember, I had just

woken up at my home.

There were noises in the living room. Some relatives were in town to

attend a family wedding. My neighbor was getting married to his cousin…er

sorry, I was too groggy to figure this out—no, my cousin was getting married to

his neighbor. But I had to work, so I could not go to the wedding. It doesn’t

matter, all marriages are the same, more or less.

I reached the bathroom still half-asleep, it was already occupied.

The bathroom door was open. I saw five of my aunts scrambling to get a

few square-inches of the wash-basin mirror. One aunt was cursing her

daughter for leaving the matching bindis at home. Another aunt had lost the

little screw of her gold earring and was flipping out.

‘It is pure gold, where is it?’ she screamed into my face. ‘Has the maid

stolen it?’ like the maid had nothing better to do then steal one tiny screw.

Wouldn’t she steal the whole set? I thought.

‘Auntie, can I use the bathroom for five minutes. I need to get ready for

office,’ I said.

‘Oh hello, Shyam. Woke up finally?’ my mother’s sister said. ‘Office?

You are not coming for the wedding?’

‘No, I have to work. Can I have the bath…’

‘Look how big Shyam has become,’ my maternal aunt said. ‘We need to

find a girl for him soon.’

Everyone burst into giggles. It was their biggest joke of the day.

‘Can I please…’ I said.

‘Shyam, leave the ladies alone,’ one of my older cousins interrupted.

‘What are you doing here with the women? We are already so late for the

wedding’

‘But I have to go to work. I need to get dressed,’ I protested, trying to

elbow my way to the bathroom tap.

‘You work in a call center, right? My cousin said.

‘Yes.’

‘Your work is through the phone. Why do you need to dress up? Who is

going to see you?’

I didn’t answer.

‘Use the kitchen sink,’ an aunt suggested and handed me my

toothbrush.

I gave them all a dirty look. Nobody noticed. I passed by the living room

on my way to the kitchen. The uncles were outside, on their second whiskey

and soda. One uncle said something about how it would be better if my father

were still alive and around this evening.

I reached the kitchen. The floor was so cold I felt I had stepped on an

ice tray. I realized I had forgotten soap. I went back but the bathroom door

was bolted. There was no hot water in the kitchen, and my face froze as I

washed it with cold water. Winter in Delhi is a bitch. I brushed my teeth and

used the steel plates as a mirror to comb my hair. Shyam had turned into Sam

and Sam’s day had just begun.

I was hungry, but there was nothing to eat in the house. Because they’d

be getting food at the wedding, my mother had felt there was no need to cook

at home.

The Qualis horn screamed at 8.55 p.m.

As I was about to leave, I realized I had forgotten my ID. I went to my

room, but could not find it. I tried to find my mother instead. She was in her

bedroom, lost in more aunties, saris and jewellery sets. She and my aunts

were doing some major weight comparisons of which aunt’s set was heaviest.

Usually the heaviest aunt had the heaviest set.

‘Mom, have you seen my ID?’ I said. Everyone ignored me. I went back

to my room as the Qualis honked for the fourth time.

‘Damn, there it is,’ I said as I finally located the ID under my bed. I