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One Night At The Call Centre
I WAS SPLASHING MY HANDS HELPLESSEY IN THE SEXI Can’t even swim in a pond, let alone in the Indian Ocean.
While I was in the water, my boss Baksha 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 as Bakshi used both his hands to keep my head submerged water was filling my mouth and nostrils when I heard loud beeps in the 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 to see 8:32 p.m. surrounded by little bells flashing 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.
9.05 pm
“WHAT, SAFARI. LATE AIN? The driver said as I took the front seat. Sorry sorry. Shall we go to Military Uncle’s place first? I panted to the driver.
Yes, he replied, looking at his watch. Can we get to the call centre by 10:00 pm? I have to
meet someone before their shift ends, I said. Depends if your colleagues are on time, the driver replied laconically. 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 his days in the Army, from which he retired a few years ago.
At fifty-plus he is the oldest person in the call centre. I don’t know him well, and I won’t talk about him much.
but I do know that he used to live with his son and daughter-in-law before he moved out for which read thrown out-to be on his own.
The pension was meagre, and he tried to supplement his income by working in the call centre. 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 young people glances.
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.
| Author | Chetan Bhagat |
| Language | English |
| No. of Pages | 165 |
| PDF Size | 1 MB |
| Category | Novel |
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