ONE NIGHT (3 page)

pulled it out by its strap and strung it around my neck.

I waved a goodbye to everyone, but no on acknowledged me. It wasn’t

surprising, I am only cared for so much. Every cousin of mine is becoming a

doctor or engineer. You can say I am the black sheep of my family. Though I

do not think that I expression is correct. After all, what’s wrong with black

sheep—don’t people wear black sweaters? But you get an idea of my status in

my clan. In fact, the only reason people somewhat talk to me is I have a job

and get a salary at the end of the month. You see, I used to work in the

website department of an ad agency before this call center job. However, the

ad agency paid horrible money. Also, all the people there were pseudos, more

interested in office politics than websites. I quit, and all hell broke loose at

home. That is when the black sheep term was tagged onto me. I saved myself

by joining Connexions, as with money in your wallet the world gives you some

respect and lets Priyanka worked there. Of course, that reason was no longer

relevant.

My aunt finally found the gold screw tapped in her fake hair bun.

The Qualis horn screamed again, this time in an agency tone.

‘I’m coming,’ I shouted as I ran out of the house.

#2

‘What sahib. Late again?’ The driver said as I took the front seat.

‘Sorry, sorry. Military Uncle’s place first?’ I panted to the driver.

‘Yes,’ he replied, looking at his watch.

‘Can we reach the call center by 10:00 p.m.? I have to meet someone

before their shift ends,’ I said.

‘Depends if your colleagues come on time,’ the driver replied

laconically as he drove towards Military Uncle’s house. ‘Anyway, let’s pick up

the old man first.’

Military Uncle hates it if we are late. I prepared myself for some dirty

looks. His tough manner comes from the Army background, from which he

retired a few years ago. A fifty plus, he is the oldest person in the call center.

I do not know him well, and I won’t talk about him much. But I do know that

he used to stay with his son and daughter-in-law before he moved one (
read—

thrown out
) to be on his own. The pension was meager, and he tried to

supplement his income by working in the call center. However, he hates to

talk and is not a voice agent. He sits on the solitary online chat and email

station. Even though he sits in our room, his desk is at a far corner near the

fax machine. He rarely speaks more than three words at a time. Most of his

interactions with us are limited to giving us condescending
you-young-people

glances.

The Qualis stopped outside Uncle’s house. He was waiting at the

entrance.

‘Late?’ Uncle said, looking at the driver.

Without answering, the driver got out to open the Qualis back door.

Uncle climbed in, ignored the middle seat and sat at the back. He probably

wanted to sit as far away from me as possible.

Uncle gave me an
it-must-be-your-fault
look. Older people think they

have a natural right to judge you. I looked away. The driver took a U-turn to

go to Radhika’s house.

One of the unique features about my team is that we not only work

together, we also share the same Qualis. Through a bit of route planning and

driver persuasion, we ensured that my Western Appliances Strategic Group all

came and left together. There are six of us: Military Uncle, Radhika, Esha,

Vroom, Priyanka and me.

The Qualis moved to Radhika Jha, or agent Regina Jones’s house. As

usual, Radhika was late.

‘Radhika madam is too much,’ the driver said, continuously pressing the

horn. I looked at my watch anxiously. I didn’t want Shefali to throw a

tantrum.

Six minutes later Radhika came running towards us, clutching the ends

of her maroon shawl in her right hand.

‘Sorry, sorry sorry…’ she said a dozen times before we could say

anything.

‘What?’ I asked her as the Qualis moved again.

‘Nothing. Almost milk for mom-in-law. Took longer to crush the

almonds,’ she said, learning back exhausted in her seat. She had taken the

middle seat.

‘Ask mom-in-law to make her own milk,’ I suggested.

‘C’mon Shyam,’ she said, ‘she’s so old, it is the least I can do, especially

when her son is not here.’

‘Yeah right,’ I shrugged. ‘Just that and cooking three meals a day and

household chores and working all night and…’

‘Shh…’ she said,’forge all that. Any news on the call centre? I’m scared.’

‘Nothing new from what Vroom told me. We have to new orders, call

volumes are at an all time low— Connexions is doomed. Just a question of

when,’ I said.

‘Really?’ her eyes widened.

It was true. You might have heard of those swanky, new-age call centers

where everything is hunky-dory, clients are plenty and agents get

aromatherapy massage. Well, our Connexions was not one of them. We live

off one and only one client—Western Computers and Appliances. And even

their call flow had dwindled. Rumors that the call center would collapse

floated in every day.

‘You thing Connexions will close down? Like forever?’ Radhika asked.

Uncle raised an eyebrow to look at us, but soon went back to brooding

by himself in the back seat. I sometimes wished he would say more, but I

guess it’s better for people to shut up rather than say something nasty.

‘That, or they will do major job cuts. Ask Vroom.’ I said.

The Qualis moved painfully slow as it was a heavy wedding date in Delhi.

On every street, there was a wedding procession. We edged forward as the

driver dodged several fat grooms on their own-burdened horses. I checked the

time again. Shefali would do some serious sulking today.

‘I need this job. Anuj and I need to save.’ Radhika said, more to herself.

Anuj was Radhika’s husband. She married him three years ago after a

whirlwind courtship in college. She now lived in a joint family with Anuj’s

ultra-traditional parents. It was tough for daddy’s only girl, but it’s amazing

what people do for love.

The driver drove to Esha Singh’s (agent Eliza Singer’s) place next. She

was already outside her house. The driver kept the Qualis ignition on as he

opened the back door.

Esha entered the Qualis and the smell of expensive perfume filled the

vehicle. She sat next to Radhika in the middle row and removed her suede

jacket.

‘Mmm…nice. What is it?’ Radhika said.

‘You noticed…’ Esha was pleased. ‘Escape, by Calvin Klein.’ She bent

her knees and adjusted the tassels at the end of her long, dark brown skirt.

‘Oooh. Went shopping?’ Radhika said.

‘Call it a momentary laps of reason,’ Esha said.

The driver finally reached a stretch of empty road and raced the Qualis

fast.

I looked at Esha again. Her dress sense is impeccable. Esha dresses

better on an average day than I ever did in my whole life. Her sleeveless

coffee-colored top perfectly contrasted with her skirt. She wore chunky

brown earrings that looked edible and her lipstick was a thick cocoa, as is she

had just kissed a bowl of chocolate sauce. Her eyes had at least one of these

things—mascara, eyeliner and/or eye-shadow (I can’t tell, but Priyanka told

me they are different things).

‘The Lakme fashion week is in four months. My agent is trying to get me

an assignment,’ Esha said to Radhika.

Esha wanted to become a model. She was hot, at least according to

people at the call center. Two months ago, some agents in the Western

Computers bay conducted a stupid poll in office. You know, the secret ones

that everyone knows about anyway. People vote for various titles, like who is

hot, who is handsome and who is pretty. Esha won the title of the ‘hottest

chick at Connexions’. She acted very dismissive of the poll results, but from

that day there’s been just this tiny hint of vanity in her. But otherwise, she is

fine. She moved to Delhi from Chandigarh a year ago, against her parent’s

wishes. The call center job helps her earn a regular income, but during the

day she approached agencies and tries to get modeling assignments. She’s

taken part in some low-key fashion shows in West Delhi. But apart from that

and the hottest-chick in-house title, nothing big has come her way so far.

Priyanka once told me (making me swear that I’d keep it to myself) that she

thinks Esha will never make it as a real model. ‘
Esha is too short and too

small-town for a real model
’—is what she said exactly. But Priyanka doesn’t

know crap. Esha is five-five, only two inches shorter than me (and one inch

taller than me with her heels). I think that is quite tall for a girl. And the

whole ‘
small-town
’ thing, that just went over my head. Esha is only twenty-

two, give her a chance. And Chandigarh is not a small town, it is a union

territory and the administrative capital of two states. But Priyanka’s

geography is crap as well. I think Priyanka is just jealous. All non-hot girls are

jealous of the hot ones. Priyanka wasn’t even considered for the hottest

chick. Now I do find Priyanka nice looking, and she did get a nomination for

the ‘call center cutie award’, which I think is just because of her dimples and

cure round face. But Priyanka didn’t win. Some girl in HR won that.

We had to pick Vroom next; his real name is Varun Malhotra (of agent

Victor Mell). However, everyone calls him Vroom because of his love for

anything on wheels.

The Qualis turned into the lane for Vroom’s house. He was sitting on his

bike, waiting for us.

‘What’s the bike for?’ I said, craning out of the window.

‘I’m coming on my own,’ Vroom said, adjusting his leather gloves. He

wore black jeans and trekking shows that made his thin legs look extra long.

His dark blue sweatshirt had the Ferrari horse logo on it.

‘Are you crazy?’ I said. ‘it’s so cold. Get in, we’re late already.’

Dragging the bike he came and stood next to me.

‘No, I’m stressed today. I need to get it out of me with a fast ride.’ He

was standing right beside me and only I could hear him.

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing. Dad called. He argued with mom for two hours. Why did they

separate? They can’t live without screaming their guts out at each other?’

‘It’s okay man. Not your problem,’ I said.

Vroom’s dad was a businessmen who parted from his wife two years

ago. He preferred banging his secretary to being with his family, so Vroom and

his mother now lived without him.

‘I couldn’t sleep at all. Just lay in bed all day and now I feel sick. Need

to get some energy back,’ Vroom said as he straddled his bike.

‘But it’s freezing, dude…’ I began.

‘What is going on Shyam sahib?’ the driver asked. I turned around. The

driver looked at me with a puzzled expression. I shrugged my shoulders.

‘He’s coming on his bike,’ I told everyone.

‘Come with me,’ Vroom said to me. ‘I’ll make you reach in half the

time.’

‘No thanks,’ I said, and folded my hands. I was not leaving the cozy

Qualis to go anywhere.

Vroom bent over to greet the driver.

‘Hello, driver sahib,’ Vroom said.

‘Vroom sahib, don’t you like my Qualis?’ the driver said, visibly

dejected.

‘No Driver
ji
, I am in a mood to ride,’ Vroom said, and offered a pack of

cigarettes to the driver. The driver took one. Vroom signaled him to keep the

whole pack.

‘Drive the Qualis if you want,’ the driver said and lifted his hands off

the steering wheel.

‘No maybe later. Right now I need to fly.’

‘Hey Vroom. Any news on Connexions? Anything happening?’ Radhika

asked, adjusting her hair.

Apart from the dark circles around her eyes, you would say Radhika was