Authors: ARUN GUPTA
—‘written’ becomes ‘writn’ and ‘certain’ is ‘certn’. The third sound is when T
is in the middle. There, it sounds like a D—‘
daughter
’ is ‘
daughter
’ and
‘
water
’ in ‘
wauder
’. The last category, if you still care, is when Americans say
T actually like a T. This happens when T is the beginning of the word like
‘
table
’ or ‘
stumble
’. Man, it drivers me nuts. And this is just one consonant.
The vowels are another, more painful story.
‘What’s up/’ Vroom said, coming up to me.
I passed the fax to Vroom. He read it and smirked.
‘Yeah right. He sent you an FYI. Do you know what an FYI is?’ Vroom
said.
‘What/’
‘Fuck you Instead. It is a standard way to dump responsibility on
someone else.’
‘I hate accent training man. You can’t teach Delhi people to speak like
American in a week.’
‘Just as you can’t train Americans to speak with a Punjabi accent,’
Vroom said and chuckled. ‘Anyway, go train-train, lose your brain.’
‘What will I do?’ I said, beginning to walk back towards our desk.
‘Go train-train, lose your brain,’ Vroom said and laughed. He liked the
rhyme, and repeated it several times as we walked back to the bay.
I was back at my seat, Vroom’s words—‘train, train’—echoing in my
head. They were making me remember another kind of train altogether. It
brought back memories of the Rail Museum—where I had a date with Priyanka
a year ago.
#5
My Past Dates with
Priyanka—I
Rail Museum, Chanakyapuri
One year before this night
She came thirty minutes late. I had seen the whole museum twice,
examined every little train model, stepped inside India’s oldest coal engine,
understood the modern interactive siren system. I went to the canteen, which
was on an island inn the middle of an artificial pond. It was impressive
landscaping for museum. I though of lighting a cigarette, but I caught sight of
the sign: ‘Only Steam Engines are Allowed to Smoke.’ I was cradling a
lukewarm Coke in the museum canteen when she arrived.
‘Okay. Don’t say anything. Sorry, I’m late, I know, I know,’ she said and
sat down with a thump in front of me.
I didn’t say anything. I looked at her tiny nose. I wondered ho it allowed
in enough oxygen.
‘What, say something,’ she said after five seconds.
‘I thought you told me to be quiet,’ I said.
‘My mother needs professional help,’ Priyanka said. ‘She really does.’
‘What happened/’ I swirled the straw in my coke, making little fizzy
drops implode.
‘I’ll tell you. First, how do you like this place/ cute, isn’t it?’
‘The Rail Museum?’ I said, throwing my hands in the air. ‘How old are
we, twelve? Anyway, what happened with mom? What was the fuel today?
‘We don’t need fuel, just a spark is enough. Just as I was ready to leave
to come here, she made a comment on my dress.’
‘What did she say?’ I asked, looking at her clothes. She wore a blue tie-
and-dye skirt, and a T-shirt that had a peace sign on it. It was typical Priyanka
stuff. She wore earring with blue beads, which matched her necklace. She
had a hint of kohl in her eyes, which I was crazy about.
‘I was almost at the door and then she says, why don’t you wear the
gold necklace I gave you for you your last birthday?’ Priyanka said.
‘And then/’ she obviously wasn’t wearing any gold necklace, as my gaze
turned to the hollow of her neck, which I felt like touching.
‘And I was like, no mom, it won’t go with my dress. Yellow metal is
totally uncool, only aunties wear it. Boom, next thing we are having this big,
long argument. That’s what made me late. Sorry,’ she said.
‘You didn’t have to fight. Just wear the chain in front of her and
remove it later,’ I said as the waiter came to take our order.
‘but that’s not the point. Anyways,’ she said and turned tot eh waiter,
get me a plate of samosas, I’m starving. Actually wait, that is so fattening, do
you have a salad?’
The waiter gave us a blank look.
‘Where do you think you are?’ I said. ‘this is the Rail Museum canteen,
not an Italian bistro. You get what you see.’
‘Okay, okay,’ she said, eyeing the stalls. ‘Get me the potato chips. No,
get me the popcorn. Popcorn is lighter right? She looked at the waiter as if he
was a nutritionist.
‘Just get the popcorn,’ I said to the waiter.
‘So, what else is happening? Met Vroom?’ she said
‘;Was supposed to, but couldn’t. he had a date.’
‘With who? New girl?’
‘Of course. He never sticks to one. I wonder what girls see in him. All
hot ones too,’ I said.
‘I can’t understand the deal with Vroom. He is the most materialistic
and unemotional person I have met in my entire life,’ Priyanka said as the
popcorn arrived at our table.
‘No he isn’t,’ I said grabbing more popcorn than I could hold.
‘Well, look at him—jeans, phones, pizzas and bikes. That is all he lives
for. And this whole new girlfriend every three months, c’mon, at some point
you’ve got to stop that, right?’
‘Well,
I’m
happy to stick to the one I have,’ I said, my mouth
overflowing with popcorn.
‘You are so cute,’ Priyanka said, as she blushed and smiled. She took
some more popcorn and stuffed it into my mouth.
‘Thanks,’ I said as I munched the popcorn. ‘Vroom has changed. He
wasn’t like this when he first joined from his previous job.’
‘The one at the newspaper?’
‘Yeah, journalist trainee. He started in current affairs. Do you know
what one of his famous pieces was called?’
‘No, what? Oh crap,’ Priyanka said, looking at someone behind me.
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing, just don’t look back. Some relatives of mine with their painful
kids are here. Oh no,’ she said, looking down at our table.
Now when someone tells you not to look at something, you always feel
an incredible urge to do just that. From the corner of my eye I saw a family
with two kids at the corner of the room.
‘Who else do you expect to come here but kids?’ I said. ‘Anyway, they
are quite far.’
‘Shut up and look down. Anyway, tell me about Vroom’s piece,’ she
said.
‘Oh yeah. It was called ‘
Why Don’t politicians Ever Commit Suicide
?”’
‘What? Sounds morbid.’
‘Well, the article said all kinds of people-students, housewives,
businessmen, employees and even film stars—commit suicide. But politicians
never do. That tells you something.’
‘What?’ she said, still keeping her eyes down.
‘Well, Vroom’s point was that suicide is a horrible thing and people do it
only because they are really hurt. This means they feel something. But
politicians don’t. So, basically, this country is run by people who don’t feel
anything.’
‘Wow! Can’t imagine that going down well with his editor.’
‘You bet it didn’t. However, Vroom had sneaked it in. the editor only
saw it after it was printed and all hell broke loose. Vroom somehow saved his
job, but his bosses moved him to Page 3.’
‘Our Vroom? Page 3?’
‘They told Vroom he was good looking, so he would fit in there. In
addiction, he had done a photography course. He could click the pictures
himself.’
‘Cover Page 3 because you are good looking? Now that sounds dumb,’
she said.
‘It is dumb. But Vroom look his revenge there too. He took unflattering
pictures of the glitterati—faces stuffed with food, close-ups of cellulite thighs,
drunk people throwing up—that sort of stuff showed up in papers the next
day.’
‘Oh my God,’ Priyanka laughed. ‘He sounds like an activist. I can’t
understand his switching to the call center for money.’
‘Well, according to him, there is activism in chasing money too.’
‘And how does that work?’
‘Well, his point is that the only reason Americans have say in this world
is because they have cash. The day we get money, we can screw them. So the
first thing we have to do is get the money.’
‘Interesting,’ Priyanka said and let out a sigh. ‘Well, that is why we slog
at night. I could have done my B.Ed right after college. But I wanted to save
some money first. Can’t open my dream nursery school without cash. So until
then, it is two hundred calls a night, night after night.’ Priyanka rested her
chin on her elbows. I looked at her. I think she would make the cutest nursery
school principal ever.
‘Western Appliances, Sam speaking, how may I help you? Please let me
help you?
Please
…’ I said, imitating an American accent.
Priyanka laughed again.
‘Priyanka dideeee,’ a five-year old boy’s voice started customers from
their samosas.
The boy running towards Priyanka had a model train set and a glass of
fountain coke precariously balanced in his hands. He ran without co-
ordination: the excitement of seeing his didi was too much for him. He
tripped near our table and I lunged to save him. I succeeded, but his fountain
coke fell all over my shirt.
‘Oh no,’ I said eve as I saw another three-year-old girl with a huge
lollipop in her mouth running towards us. I moved aside from the tornado to
save another collision. She landed straight on Priyanka’s lap. I went to the
restroom to clean my shirt.
‘Shyam,’ Priyanka said when I returned, ‘meet my cousin, Dr Anurag.’
The entire family had shifted to our table. Priyanka introduced me to
everyone. I forgot their names as soon as I heard them. Priyanka told her
doctor cousin I worked at a call center. I think the cousin was less interested
in talking to me after that. The kids had eaten half the popcorn and spilt the
rest of it. The boy was running his model train set through popcorn fields on
the table and screaming a mock siren with his sister.
‘Sit, Shyam,’ Priyanka said.
‘No, actually I have an early shift today,’ I said and got up to leave.
‘But wait…’ Priyanka said.
‘No, I have to go,’ I said and ran out of the Rail Museum, which had
turned as chaotic as a railway station.
#6
‘Ouch, Esha scream in the middle of her call broke my train of though
and memories.
‘What?’ I said.
‘I heard loud static. Really bad line… hello, yes madam, Esha said.
Radhika was knitting something with pink wool while she waited for a
call. People were busy, but I could sense that the call volume was lower than
usual tonight.
‘Eew,’ Priyanka said five seconds later.
‘Freaking hell,’ Vroom said as he pulled off his headset from his ears.
‘What’s going on?’ I said.
‘There’s shrill static coming every few seconds now. Ask Bakshi to send
someone,’ Vroom said, rubbing his ear.
‘I’ll go to his office. You guys cover the calls,’ I said and looked at the
time. It was 10:51 p.m. The first break was in less than an hour.
I passed by the training room on my way to Bakshi’s office. I perked
inside: fresh trainees were attending a session. Some students were snoozing;
they were probably still getting used to working at night.
‘35=10’, the instructor wrote in big bold letters on the blackboard.
I remembered the 35=10 rule from my training days two years ago. It
helped agents adjust to their callers.
‘Remember,’ the instructor said to the class, ‘a thirty-five-year-old
American’s brain and IQ is the same as a ten-years-old Indian’s brain. This will
help you understand your clients. You need to be as patient as you are when
dealing with a child. Americans are dumb, just accept it. I don’t want anyone
losing their cool during the calls…’