The call centre that day was like the
fairyland Bitty dreamt of in school. ‘Cool,
man, like movie sets,’ someone said. The
special Valentine décor, funded by a
generous company allowance, surpassed Diwali
razzmatazz on the sari street. The glass
doors were eclipsed by heart-shaped wreaths,
more extravagant than wedding flowers. Walls
normally filled with humdrum announcements –
‘This Week’s Best Agents’ or ‘Special
Incentive for Super Achievers’ or ‘From the
CEO’s Desk’ – were plastered instead with
L-O-V-E garlands, with heart ornaments, with
pink arrow-wielding babies that Akriti said
were ‘sweet Cupids’. The electronic
wallboard, which usually flashed irksome
warnings about ‘Calls in Queue’ and
‘Disconnects’ floated among helium-filled
Barbies. And moreover, every cubicle had a
box of heart-shaped chocolates with a card
from the management saying ‘Happy
Valentine’s Day’. It was 4:00 a.m. in
Bangalore on the next day, but that wasn’t
the point. It was Valentine’s Day in
America.
Bitty excitedly ripped open her gift-wrapped
chocolates. Across the main aisle, the
Callus CEO, a handsome, bearded man she
sometimes glimpsed from a distance, escorted
a prospective American client inside the
profusion of pinks: ‘We really try to make
them feel a part of the culture,’ he
explained. ‘Look at this place today! I’m
sure Sears or Wal-Mart doesn’t look better.
And when customers greet them with a ‘Happy
Valentine’s Day’, they’ll share the feeling,
not respond with an “Aah? I don’t know what
you mean”.’
Bitty was assigned that week to an internet
service provider’s account. ‘You have to
take down change requests,’ the Team Leader
had said. ‘This is a pilot phase where the
client is assessing our capability, so be
extra polite.’ Bitty wasn’t familiar with
the script but most calls were easy;
internet subscribers merely wanted the job
done quickly. Her eyes fixed on the computer
screen, where the script flickered at the
bottom, Bitty read out the greeting: ‘Good
evening, this is Columbus Instant Connect,
we appreciate your calling us today, can I
have your first name and last name please?’
She heard footsteps in the adjoining aisle.
‘Listen to these agents, live on the phone.
They compare with the best in America,’ said
the CEO, and before the agent had registered
his words, he ushered the American lady into
Bitty’s cubicle. She could hardly attend to
the headset voice. She fumbled while
confirming the caller’s first and last name.
‘Really?’ said the American lady, lowering
her fuzzy, brown head to listen into Bitty’s
call.
The agent tried to hide the tremor in her
voice. They hadn’t warned her, yesterday or
earlier tonight, about intrusions into live
calls. It was one thing to have a foreign
voice at the other end but another thing
entirely to have a foreign face watching
your movements. Distracted by the shuffle of
black stockings near her desk, she wasn’t
sure later if she entered the account number
incorrectly or if her pronunciations were
too Indian, but while Bitty said, ‘Sure, we
can do that sir. Just give me a few minutes
while I retrieve your account,’ the American
client sprang from her seat and ripped off
her listening headset, face blanched.
‘I need to get back to the hotel,’ she said.
‘I feel unwell.’
‘Several calls later, the Team Leader hauled
Bitty in for a private meeting. ‘Bitty, what
the hell, you messed up when the firang
female side-jacked your calls. CEO’s pissed,
Area Manager’s on fire. What did you say?’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ said Bitty. ‘I was
reading from the script.’
‘Maybe that’s the problem. Americans don’t
like agents reeling out scripts. You should
learn to speak naturally.’
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