DRIVE

Allow me to introduce my driving instructor Driver Jayaraj, a 50 odd year old, grumpy old man who I'll call DJ. Here are a few excerpts  from the five days of driving that I've had to endure as a part of my license application. 

DAY 1

DJ comes down from his office to join me outside, waiting for him. 

DJ: LL laya?

ME: No.

DJ: Attendance card laya?

ME: No.

DJ: Two wheeler chalanku aata?

ME: (suppressing a laugh) Yeah, of course!

DJ: (steps inside the car and opens the co-passenger door) baitho!

I step inside the car.

DJ: (pointing at the controls and the dashboard) ye steering wheel, ye gear, ye clutch air ye break.

ME: (to myself) You got to be kidding me! I wasn't born yesterday, you know! (I nod in agreement and comprehension)

DJ: paile clutch dabanakar neutral karku. Phir engine "on" karnaku. Break me pair dalke dabanaku. Aur clutch dabanaku aur first gear dalnaku aur hallu se clutch chodnaku.

ME: (to myself) Holy Mother of God! What the fuck was that? (aloud) Yes, Uncle, I get it!

DJ drives the car a few meters ahead and pulls over.

DJ: Ao, baitho idharich. (he steps out of the driver's seat and beckons me)

I oblige by getting out of the car and stepping into the driver's seat. I get a rush of blood holding the steering wheel. It's like Go-Karting or all those video games I had mastered!

DJ: Sau rupiya nikalo je.

ME: (puzzled) Now why on earth would you want that?

DJ: Guru dakshina je. 

ME: What the fuck man!

DJ: Kaiku? Tu kabhi guru dakhsina nahi deta kya?

ME: I do. But this is weird. Nonetheless, I aint carrying my wallet.

DJ: Kya je? LL nahi lata, card nahi lata, purseku nahi lata! Tu aata kaiku?

ME: (laughs nervously) So do you want me to go?

DJ: Na je. Tu baith aur gaadi ko start karna. "Off" nahi honaku!

I put the car on neutral and turn on the engine. I then release the hand brake and put the car into first gear with my foot strongly and firmly stomped on the clutch. I let go of the brake and slowly step on the accelerator, releasing the clutch slowly. The engine starts roaring loudly before jerking to a stop.

DJ: Wahichu! Hum jaanta yahich honaku!

ME: Dude, it's my first day. Mind saving that for later!

DJ: Hmmm….phir se kar. Clutch hallu se chodnaku.

ME: (to myself) Dude, I can't understand jack shit of what you're talking about! What the hell is hallu and for the love of God, what the hell is chodnaku?

I repeat the same procedure and even thought the engine roars, I get the car moving.

DJ: Hmmmm….awaz bahut karta gadi. Hallu se accelerator chodnaku je!

ME: (to myself) Ah! So hallu means slowly. Now I get it! (aloud) Yes, Uncle, next time. 

I was already on second gear but was driving at around 40.

DJ: Kya je, kidhar janeka tereko!

ME: No where. Why do you ask?

DJ: Hallu se chalanaku je. 

It gets too much for me to handle and I burst out laughing. 

DJ: Hasta kaiku je?

ME: Nothing, man! God have mercy on me!

We drive around a bit and finally pull up along the service road on the Outer Ring Road. I could see that the road was sloping upwards. He was explaining how to get the car moving forward without rolling backwards. The clutch-break agreement!

DJ: Ab karo. Engine "off" nahi honaku.

ME: (following his instructions slowly release my clutch with my legs firmly on the break. As the the car begins to vibrate a little, I let go of the break and just as the car begins to move, I let go c ompletely bringing the car to a violent stop.) Goddammit!!!

DJ: (sighs or rather smirks) hmmmm….wahichu!

I restart the engine and this time I manage to do so. The engine still roars a little louder than usual.

DJ: Hmmm..accelerator kaiku dabata itni jor se? Hallu se karna.

ME: Yessir!!!

DAY 2

I'm pretty much on a roll now. The go-kart sessions and the video games pay off finally! I'm on 5th gear on the second day itself!

DJ: O je, tereko pata, gaadi me break bhi hota.

ME: Dude, can't you see I'm on a roll? I've got this!

DJ: Theek hai je. Samne left leo.

I turn left.

DJ: Oye, indicator dalio. Kya je! Aisaich kaiku karta.

ME: Sorry, mate!

DJ: Kya sorry! Peeche se gaadi aake jab marega na…

ME: Yes, I understand.

DJ: Side karke gadi stop karo.

I do so. 

DJ: First gear dalio aur gadi nikalo.

ME: (I put the car in first gear but my clutch-accelerator agreement sucks and the car jolts to a stop) Shit.

DJ: Hmmm….wahichu! Ho gaya!

ME: Dude, a little sympathy please. It's just my second day.

DJ: Tu two wheeler kaisa chalta? Aiseich?

ME: Mate, I'm an awesome biker.

DJ: Haan. Dikhta je!

ME: Dude!

I restart the engine and get the car moving. This time it's perfect! I stun myself.

DJ: Aisich chalaneka. 

ME: (smiling) See. Told u I've got it.

DJ: Tu kal se chappal pehenke aana. Accha hota. Acceleratoe hallu se chodnaku aur clutch bhi.

We drive around a bit and reach a by lane with an even sharper upward slope.

ME: Holy shit!

DJ: (laughing) Dalio first gear aur nikalo.

ME: (I do what I need to and as soon as the car starts moving a little, I step on the gas and drive a few meters ahead) Hell, yeah!

DJ: Stop karo aur phir karo.

ME: (I do it again and it works. My clutch-break agreement seems to be on working terms!) Oh yeah! Who's your daddy now?

DAY 3

We are now focussing on reverse parking and reverse driving modes.

DJ: Samne right liyo.

ME: (I turn right and keep driving)

DJ: Gadi roko na je!

ME: Oh, so tell me man! (I pull over)

DJ: Ab right reverse liyo.

I put my gear in reverse and slowly back up the car. I step on the accelerator feeling that I was moving too slow.

DJ: Accelerator kaiku dabata. Chodnaku.

ME: Dude, the car's gonna stop.

DJ: Tu bahut janta. Chalao.

ME: We'll see.

I drive ahead once again, stop and put the car into reverse. I slowly let the clutch go, moving the car slowly backwards. I turn right and pull over perfectly, not leaving any space on the side of the road.

DJ: Dekho je! Accelerator dabana se gaadi control nahi hota.

ME: Yeah, thanks!

DJ: Ab left reverse try karo.

I put the car in gear and turn left at the crossing. I stop, and put the gear in reverse. I try backing up, but my clutch-break agreement breaks down and the car once again jerks to a halt.

DJ: Hmmmm….Ho gaya  tera. 

ME: (laughing) Shit happens. I'll do it again.

DJ: Dekhnaku mereko.

ME: I'm sorry, what?

DJ: Kuch nahi. Karo left parking.

I repeat the same steps and manage to turn left backwards this time, but unfortunately…..

DJ: (opening the co-passenger's door) Dekho je. Kitna jaga chodta. Itna jaga nahi chodnaka.

ME: (to myself) Dude, for the love of god, speak a language I comprehend!

DJ: Theek hai. Hojata.

ME: I know, man. Peace!

DAY 4

This was by far the best day of my training. I was zipping through crowded streets and highways on 5th gear, sending DJ into a tizzy.

DJ: O je, kaisa chalata je! 

ME: Bro, chill, I've got this!

DJ: (going into panic mode after a tremendous swerve I made to overtake a bus from the right) Saala, chutiya banata. Ye maderchod bmtc wale much dekhta nahi. Kabhi Kabhi break dabanaku ji. Chaar din ho gaya par confidencich nahi!

ME: (stunned) Dude, what are you, Blind? Didn't you just see what I did?

DJ: Aage se left lena. Slow karo aur second gear me daliyo.

I slow down at the crossing and put the car into second gear. I slow down enough to make the turn and step on the accelerator slightly while making the turn. The car makes a smooth turn, but the speed causes the passengers to swing towards the right.

DJ: Abe break dabanaku na turning ich. Kya kart a je. Kaisa chalata? Indicator bhi nahi deta.

ME: Oh, come on man! Didn't you see how smooth that was?

DJ: Kya smooth karnaku.

ME: (sighing) Whatever, man!

I now start flying along a more or less empty street. I check the speedo and whistle seeing the needle point 90. An ambulance approaches menacingly from the opposite direction with all sirens blaring. I swing the car slightly to the left, slowing down to 70, and then swerve back on track. DJ's panic stricken as he grabs the steering wheel.

ME: Dude, get your fucking hands off my wheel!

DJ: Tereko yahich gaadi me jaana mangta na wahich me? (he points to the passing ambulance)

ME: (laughing) Man, seriously! I was awesome! Why don't you just come forward and admit it?

DJ: Tu break dabanaku.

I keep driving.

DJ: Break dabanaku je!

I look at him rather puzzled, but keep driving.

DJ: Kya je? Sun na nahi hota kya? Break dabanaku je!

ME: Oh, so you want me to break?

DJ: Kya yaar. Hum kya bolku tereko. (he slaps his forehead)

ME: Dude, come on! I just don't get what you say most of the time. Speak a language I comprehend. This is crazy!

DJ: Kya je. Samajhta nahi kya?

ME: FUCK, NO! It takes me forever to decipher your language! I mean dabanaku, dabanaku. Dude, what the fuck is dabanaku?

DJ: Break karku.

ME: Fuck, here we go again.

DJ: Break dabanaku.

ME: Oh, for God's sake stop!

DJ: Break me pairich rakhnaku.

ME: Oh, sweet Jesus!

DJ: Break (nodding violently and pointing at the breaks) parich (pointing at my legs) dabanaku (he gestures with both hands as moving downwards as if giving a downward thrust)

ME: Yeah, I get it! Fuck!

DAY 5

DJ: Woh chokri kitna accha chalata.

ME: Hmmm…

DJ: Aage right ko U-turn liyo. Indicator daliyo.

I take a good U turn even though the car vibrates a little.

DJ: Gadi 'gad-gad' karta! Kya bhi nahi je! Ye U-turn bhi who chokri accha karta. 

I laugh again!

ME: (chuckling to myself) Gad-Gad, eh! (aloud) Who are you talking about, man?

DJ: Ek chokri aata seekhneku. Sunday ko teen ghanta chalaya.

ME: Who, Surabhi?

DJ: Haan, wahichu. Tum usse janta kaise?

ME: Well, we met at the RTO.

DJ: Terese accha driving kart a wo.

ME: (smirks) Good for her!

DJ: Kya je. Hum sacchi boltachu. Tu bahut rash chalata. Wo chokri accha chalatachu.

ME: (pride going for a toss) Dude, she's got a car at home!

DJ: Jalta tera, haan.

ME:(smirks again)No….o!

DJ: Chalo, seedha chalo.

I drive ahead at close to 90. I'm totally pissed off with my ego taking a massive pounding.

DJ: Kya hua je. Slow chalanaku. Is gadi me break bhi hota.

ME: Yeah, I know.

I continue zipping ahead, regardless of a furious instructor. I had to make a point. Why doesn't he get it.

DJ: Us chokri ka baap ko bhi bahut accha laga je. Bahut khush tha.

ME: (exasperated) Dude, SHUT THE FUCK UP!

DJ: Mereko olatchu kuch bolne ka jaruri nahi pada. Maine bas bola right jao, left jao. Chokri mast chalaya.

ME: What in the name of the devil is oltachu. Nevermind! Please don't answer that.

DJ: Tu bhi accha chalata. Thoda rash par accha hai. 

ME: Why couldn't you say this earlier?

DJ: Tera hota accha. Dekhnaku instructor kaiseich.

ME: (sighing) Yes, I'm aware of it.

I come back home, fling my attendance card across my table and collapse onto my bed. 

CUSTOMER SATISFACTION

AMRIT DAS

‘Yet Another Dark Day’

It was another frantic day at Das Outsourcing Consultants Private Ltd, with close to a hundred agents sitting in front of their computers talking into their headsets and furiously typing away on their keyboards. No, wait! They were not merely ‘talking’ but were coaxing, pleading and literally on their knees, begging their customers to buy a grant or a mobile handset that never existed so that they could go home feed their families the one square meal they needed.

What a sham!

To add to the pandemonium were the team leaders hurrying around between bays and cubicles, urging their teams on, hoping for not just a miracle, but for a multitude of them to happen. After all, their asses were on the line and some of them knew with their preposterous leadership skills and outrageous commands over what they thought was English, they were not going to get anywhere far.

It had been over five days since anyone had closed a successful sale and by the way things were going, the best we could do was pray.

I sat in the conference room with Kunal and Ankit, pondering on how so much hell managed to break loose. The lights in the room were off as a manifestation of the mood all around; deep, dark and gloomy. However, we were all drenched in a golden hue, thrown from the streetlight right outside our window casting perfectly still shadows on the walls. I took off my spectacles, kept them on my desk, rubbed my eyes and sighed. Fuck!

“It’s as if a black cat’s crossed all our paths on our way here,” Kunal said, ruefully.

“As the agents point out, it’s the leads,” I replied, trying to cheer him up.

“Yeah, and what am I going to tell Kurt when he calls up tomorrow?” Kunal scoffed. “That, ‘hey Kurt, I’m so sorry but your leads were so fucked up that instead of being flushed down the toilet, they ended up on our laps.’”

“And do you know what the worst of it all is?” I said, adding to the despondency, “it’s us team leaders and assistant manager who get the ass kicking.”

Ankit laughed.

“Good to see someone seeing the funnier side of this mayhem,” Kunal scowled, looking at Ankit.

“No, man, it’s not that,” Ankit replied, waving his hands in the air in self defence. “I was just thinking what would happen to people like Subhash and Priyanka if the company were to shut down.”

I chuckled, thinking about the possible predicament they could face.

“Yeah,” Ankit went on. “I don’t think any call center would hire a guy who says, ‘thank you shir for choojing bhodaphone. You will be getting your hangsex bhithin a bheek,’ as agents, let alone team leaders.”

This time Kunal joined in as he guffawed so loud that the room shook. A heavy set man can do that. 

“’Hangsex’! Shit! I mean how difficult is it to say ‘handsets’?”

Ankit threw himself back on the desk behind him, clutching his stomach as the cachinnation took its toll on his abdominal muscles. “Dear God, man! But the ‘hangsex’ episode reminds me of this call I took over from Prakash yesterday. I think I’ve already told Amrit about this.” Ankit winked at me.

“Ah, the grant call, eh!” I said, sniggering. “Let’s see if Kunal can take this!”

“Well,” Ankit began, still laughing sporadically, trying to catch his breath back, “I was on my usual rounds, hoping for wonders to smile upon us when Prakash started waving at me frantically….”

ANKIT SHRIVASTAV

‘Oh yes! Oh yes!’

“Dude, you’ve got to take this call,” Prakash said, handing over his headset, panting, completely out of breath and red all over.

I looked at him curiously, put on the head and sat down. I looked at the monitor, trying to get the customer’s name.

“Hello, Amanda, this is Richard. How may I help you?” I said, introducing my alias. “I believe….”

I paused. I thought I had heard something.

I looked at Prakash, who had his hand firmly over his mouth, sniggering away to glory.

Were my ears playing tricks on me?

“Uh, Amanda?” I mumbled, with my voice refusing to pass through my larynx.

And then I heard it again. This time it was clearer, more distinct and, strangely, feminine.

I hit the ‘mute’ button and spun around on my chair to meet Prakash, who was in throes of uncontrollable sniggering.

“What the fuck is going on here, man!?” I glared at him.

“Keep listening, Ankit!” Prakash squawked through his palms, “I’ve already had my share!”

And before I could say anything more, the sounds grew louder and louder, infiltrating my ear canals, all the way up to the brain. And the brain, of course, has its own merry ways of interpreting sounds like these.

There were grunts, there were moans and there were squeals and screams. There were also sounds of hinges creaking and those of wood scraping against concrete. It was cacophonous.

Amanda was fornicating!

Fuck! Fornicate! Do people still use that word?!

I sported a look of confused amusement and a tinge of disgust as I stared at Prakash who had by then lost all control over himself, hanging his head on the bay partition and guffawing his lungs out. And by saying ‘lungs’,  I’m being very polite.

There was a sizeable crowd that had gathered around us, sucked in by the action unfolding in front of them. 

Some were just curious, some wanted a piece of the action and some were in such heights of desperation that they thought we had just accidentally dialed a party hotline.

And then suddenly Amanda shrieked, “oh my God, yes! Yes! YESSSSSS! Oh, Jesus!”

I looked around at the dense, idiotic and completely puerile faces that were ogling on and laughed sheepishly.

“I think Amanda just had an orgasm!” I blurted.

There was a little pause, as if they were soaking in what I just said.

And then the mob erupted into peals of hysterical laughter and turned riot. People started running around mindlessly crashing into and toppling over chairs, tripping over one another, laughing uncontrollably and clutching their guts as though there was a sniper on the prowl.

They wrecked havoc.

Prakash who was standing beside me through all this mayhem, finally gathered his composure and chuckled, 

“so Amanda came, eh!”

“Shut up!” I snapped, and slammed down the headset in hopeless frustration.

I sat there for another two minutes, rubbing my face and trying to get myself back to reality. And then I stood up and left to get myself a well deserved cup of coffee.

Fuck!

AMRIT DAS

Coming Back

Kunal had just finished wiping the tears of laughter off his eyes and I was still lost, picturing the events in my mind.

“That’s fucked up, man!” Kunal exclaimed.

“Yeah and guess what?” Ankit said, looking around and leaning forward as if to reveal something classified.  

“I fished out the recording from the quality room and saved in my phone!”He whispered.

“No fucking way!” I said, flabbergasted.

“But I did,” Ankit replied, still whispering.

“Well, did you guys hear about Vijay’s encounter with this British customer?” Kunal asked, changing the topic.

“No, we haven’t,” I replied. “What happened?”

“This was like the Sweet Mother of all cases…” he began.

KUNAL JAISWAL

Silicon Valley

I was, as usual in the quality room, monitoring calls on a very sluggish and dreary evening. I decided to lighten things up by barging Vijay’s calls and as usual, I wasn’t disappointed.

After many an unsuccessful attempt at holding a conversation of over ten seconds, Vijay finally managed to get a British gentleman’s attention. Well, I’m sure it was more out of intrigue and amusement on the gentleman’s part than anything else.

“Hello Mr. Robertson, this is Jay here calling from Silicon Marketing Services,” Vijay began his scripted pitch with a very thick accent.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Robertson, interjected, “you’re calling from where?”

“Sir, Silicon Mark….” Vijay was cut off again.

“’Silicone’? Wow! My wife needs a pair of those,” Mr. Robertson said, sounding stern.

I cackled lightly. Let’s see how you handle this, Vijay!

“I’m sorry, sir. But what your wife need?” Vijay stammered, succumbing to the pressure.

And that’s how you fuck English up!

“Silicone, man, silicone,” Mr. Robertson explained. “You see, my wife is rather flat chested.”

“What, sir?”

“Are you retarded or something, mate?”

“No, sir, I do not understand.”

Mr. Robertson heaved. “Well, buddy, my wife, she’s got flat breasts. In fact she ain’t got any!”

Poor Vijay, who was taking a sip of water from his bottle choked and sprayed water all over his computer.

“B..b…breasts, sir?” I could literally see Vijay wiping the sweat off his brow on this one. “Um, I don’t know what you saying, sir!”

I couldn’t control myself. This was a classic in every sense of the word.

“You just said, you’re calling from ‘Silicone’ Marketing, and I’m telling you that my wife needs a pair of those and I’m more desperate for them than she is. Now do you get it?”

“Um, no, yes. Yes, sir,” Vijay mumbled.

“Great!” Mr. Robertson sounded overjoyed. “So, go ahead and sign me up!”

“Ok Sir.”

“So what sizes do you have, mate?”

“Uh, sizes?”

“Yeah, man, sizes. Look, I don’t want my wife looking like Pamela Anderson, but I need her to be endowed well enough to fit perfectly in my hands.”

“What sir?”

“Her boobs, man. Her boobs! Shit, man! What is it with you?”

“Okay…” Vijay had long lost the plot and I was about to go over to his bay.

“Right, so I guess a size 34 with perhaps a C cup should suffice,” Mr. Robertson was relentless. He really seemed desperate, the poor sod!

I frantically typed an alert box message and sent it to Vijay over his monitor. “’Tell him this: Sir, I’m very sorry, we don’t do that here. I’m sorry for taking up your time,’ and hang up.”

And Vijay did.

Jesus Christ!

AMRIT DAS

Return to Serenity

“The kinds of characters we get are just incredible,” Kunal said, concluding his story.

“Holy shit, man!” I exclaimed, “I hope Mrs. Robertson gets those implants soon!”

“I know,” Ankit added. “You don’t want Mr. Robertson doing something stupid in his desperation.”

“At least we had a good laugh even though there hasn’t been much to laugh about over the last few days,” I said, slipping on my spectacles, standing up and stretching hard.

Kunal turned on the light, blacking out the streetlamp outside.

“I think I’ll make a move,” Ankit said, yawning wide. “Anyways there’s nothing much left for us to do here.”

“Yeah,” I said, glancing at my watch. It was 3.15 am. “I guess I’ll call it a day too.” Looking at Kunal, I said, 

“I’ve brought my scooter, man. Do you need a ride?”

“Yeah, buddy. Hang on!”