You are currently browsing the daily archive for March 2, 2012.

Kalyani looked at her chapped and broken finger nails and made a mental note to go for a manicure at least next month. Then she thought of the salary she would get and the loans she had to pay and the balance that would remain from her pay. Maybe she can go for the manicure the month after next. There was no hurry. What mattered was whether she sent money home to her parents and family of 7. She let out a soft sigh and adjusted her headset and the small microphone attached to it. She had an avail time* longer than a minute and that was rare. Usually, calls peaked at this time and she was wondering why wasn’t she getting her next call and then her desk phone beeped and the call was automatically answered. She had to deliver her opening lines*. She had done it so many times that it came naturally to her now. “Thank you for calling OneEdge Communications Technical support. My name is Sara. How can I help you today?”

She was not Kalyani anymore. She couldn’t afford to be. Not for the next few minutes at least. She was Sara now. Sara – a confident American who was pleasing to the people who called her when their phone service was not working. Sara who fixed their phone connections sitting at her desk. Sara who symbolised politeness, kindness, efficiency, approachability, and whatever else her customers and OneEdge demanded of her. Kalyani, who struggled day in and day out to put food on the table for a poor family in the outskirts of a village in India ceased to exist. Kalyani, who studied hard and wanted to become an engineer. Kalyani, who had to abandon college after her first year of BSc because she could not finance her studies. Kalyani, who worked at nights in a call centre, to hear people call her the choicest of American profanity when their phones weren’t working , complain and grumble at the poor service offered by their phone company and then who had to solve people’s problems in spite of it all.  Nobody wanted to talk to Kalyani. She did not exist. Sara did. The confident, cheerful Sara.

Kalyani finished her call in the allotted time of 12.5 minutes. She did not have to worry about her AHT* today. There were about 1.5 more hours for her shift to end and she knew she would manage. She had handled 17 calls and she knew she would get at least 5 more before she logged out for the day. She adjusted her phone system to busy status, took off her headset and rose up from her rotating chair to get a coffee. She looked at the watch. 2.48 am. 1 hour and 12 minutes more to log-out time. She sighed again – this time loudly and went off into the pantry.

When she got back, she was in a better mood. She had just one more hour to go and she wasn’t working for the next two days. She smiled and changed the status on her phone system so that she could go back to taking more calls. As soon as she did that, she heard the familiar beep and it was time to be Sara again. “Thank you for calling OneEdge Communications Technical Support. My name is Sara. How can I help you today?” She couldn’t hear a response from the other end. So she gave her opening lines again. This time she heard something that sounded like a soft crying noise. She paused for a few seconds. She gave her opening lines one more time. As per the company policy, she could disconnect the call if there was no response even after the third time she gave her opening lines. And that was what she usually did. But she hesitated this time. And months later, whenever she thought of this particular call, she had no idea why she did not disconnect the call immediately. As she paused with her finger hovering above the disconnect button, she heard the crying again. This time she heard it louder and an old voice said “Please help me, Sara, my son is in an accident. I want to speak to him. My phone is out. I do not know what to do. Sara, help me.” Her senses kicked in immediately. She got the basic customer information from her caller.

Her name was Martha Lindenmeyer and she was an old widow living with her son. Her landline connection, provided by OneEdge was not working for some weird reason and she wanted it fixed immediately. Her son, Neil had met up with an accident on the road and somebody had called  to inform her  to rush to the hospital. But before she could ask him the name of the hospital and the other details, her phone died on her. Martha did not own a cell phone as she could never figure out how to operate one. The only way to reach her was through the landline and the number was stored on Neil’s cell-phone. The call to her house came from his cell and she had no way to call back as her phone totally was dead. Her neighbours weren’t home and the old woman walked nearly a block to find a public phone booth to call Neil’s phone. It rang and rang for about 2-3 minutes till finally somebody picked it up. Before she could say anything to the person at the other end, a crisp voice told that it was a nasty accident involving two cars and a person was dead on the spot. The cell phone’s owner was bleeding profusely and almost looked dead. In fact the paramedics thought he was dead but somebody found a weak pulse. He was rushed to the hospital.  Any further information would be conveyed to the victim’s home number. And for the second time, before she could ask the name of the hospital or at least where the accident had occurred, the call was disconnected.  Martha almost had a panic attack hearing the news. She held onto the receiver and felt sweat pour down her back. She was having trouble breathing and she knew she had to steady herself soon or she would pass out right in the public booth. After what seemed like hours, she managed to get her nerves straight by taking long and deep bouts of air through her mouth. Then she realised that she still did not know where Neil was.  She called back frantically but this time nobody picked the call even after it rang for more than 10-15 minutes. The only thing she could do now was to pray and somehow get her home phone fixed and wait for someone to call her with the news and details. Her next call was made to the customer helpline at OneEdge and by the time she told her story of mishaps to Sara, she was almost breathless. She cried twice in the middle of her narrative and her old voice broke in numerous places. Kalyani felt her heart go out this helpless mother and she knew she had to somehow fix her phone. In a weird way, it was a matter of life or death.

Kalyani tried the basic troubleshooting that she could do over the phone but no matter what she did, the phone just wouldn’t work. And it was almost impossible to do the advance troubleshooting as Martha wasn’t even in front of her phone. Her attempts at bringing the dead equipment back to life was futile, to say the least. And she was at her wits’ end. The only thing she could do now was to send a technician to Martha’s house and as per the company policy, he would do a house call only after 24 hours since the first call was made to the Technical support. For the first time Kalyani felt angry at the way things worked, in this case how things did not work. She was consoling and comforting Martha as she desperately tried various steps to revive the phone and bring it back into the network. And as she was multitasking away furiously, a pop-up window opened on her screen. Her boss was pinging her in the company chat service. He was barging* into the call as it had been active for nearly 50 minutes now and Kalyani was screwing the AHT – not just for herself, but also of the whole exam AHT average. He wanted her to fix up a technician-house-call and hang up the call immediately. She tried to quickly tell him of the issue but he cut her off curtly saying that he was aware of it and just wanted her to get off the call somehow. And Kalyani knew her boss was right, there was nothing more she could do. Well, if she was located somewhere near Martha’s house, she would have gone there in person and done something. But she wasn’t in America. She wasn’t’ even close. She was all the way at the other end of the world, in a dirty urban city in India, desperately trying to earn her wages pretending to be an all-American woman.

After repeated warnings and commands from her boss, she had to disconnect the call. Martha did not have a CBN*. Kalyani got her neighbour’s phone number and promised to call the next day to check up on the issue. She tried again to comfort Martha before she disconnected. She told her that Neil was going to be fine and that tomorrow her phone will be fixed and she will hear good news about him. She felt a lump form in her throat as her reassurances sounded hollow and meaningless even to herself. With a half-heart, she disconnected the call. She had already gone 7  minutes past her log-off time but for some reason, she did not feel like rushing back to the Working Women’s Hostel where she stayed. Her thoughts stayed with Martha and she knew she was not going to enjoy  her two days off. Before she left the call centre,  she assigned the call-back to one of her colleagues and made him promise that he would follow-up on the case. She was still not feeling good, and she made a mental note to call and remind him of the call back tomorrow.

As she expected, Kalyani’s weekly off did not go well at all. She kept thinking about Martha and Neil and wondered how much she was concerned about two people whom she had never even met. From previous experiences, she knew never to share her office stories to her parents or siblings as they were not too happy about her job. They had the typical Indian mentality and said working in a call centre was cheap and not suited to girls from a  good family. But they couldn’t follow up on it or force her to quit because her money paid their bills and she supported the education of her 2 sisters who were in college. The call-centre money was better than no money at all and there was nothing they could do about it. Kalyani reminded her office mate about the call back multiple times. And even after the repeated reminders, he did not make the call back on the first day and the second day when he did call, nobody answered the call at the neighbours’. She asked him to call again but he said he was too busy handling his calls. She let it go. She would go to work the next day and see to it herself.

The first thing Kalyani did when she logged in at 8pm was to call Martha’s landline. She could hear the phone ringing and that was a good sign. After the second ring, someone picked up the call and said “Hello” softly. It was not Martha’s voice. Kalyani introduced herself as Sara from OneEdge and asked to speak to Martha. The person said Martha was at the hospital. She had collapsed after her son had passed away two days ago in a car accident. She was her neighbour and was watching the house for Martha. Yes, the phone technician had come. Yes, He fixed the phone. But it was not much of a use now. Neil was gone and Martha was not in a position to see to things. When was the funeral? Soon, the date was not decided. Yes, she would definitely pass her condolences to Martha. If Sara wanted to attend the funeral, she could give her the address. Martha had told her how the nice lady from the phone company tried desperately to help her. It was too bad she couldn’t attend the funeral. Yes, thank you for calling. God bless you.

Kalyani disconnected the call and sat there motionless for a few minutes. Then she put the phone on busy mode again and accessed the customer information of Martha Lindenmeyer. She saw that she had been a model customer for the past 8 years. She had never had any outstanding dues and always paid her bills on time. The connection was taken in the name of Neil Lindenmeyer and she knew they would have to change it soon. She checked their call logs and found that 90pc of the calls went to a cell phone listed under Neil’s name. For some unknown reason, she felt her eyes well up and hot, round tear drops rolled down her cheeks onto her headset. She knew she was going to get in trouble for what she was going to do next, but then again, after today, it was not going to matter. She accessed the payment information of Neil and Martha and saw they had paid $31 per month for the past 8 years. She did the small math and found that the sum total came up to $2976. They had paid nearly $3000 to OneEdge and when it mattered the most, the company could do nothing for them. Sara felt that it did not deserve their money. And in a twisted way, she considered it blood-money. She had to give it back to them. The money no longer belonged to OneEdge. It had to go back to the Lindenmeyers. She gave that amount as a credit in the account and pushed back the amount into the credit card used for payment. She knew no amount of money would bring Neil back to Martha but this was the only thing she could do. She felt slightly better but deep inside, she still felt like she was responsible for Neil’s death. She felt like a murderer in a weird sort of way and she hated it. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. It was part of being Sara. But it somehow had to stop. Sara had to go. Kalyani then logged onto her company’s intranet portal and submitted her resignation online. She took off her headset and felt it for the last time. Then she unplugged the phone from the base cord and threw it on the ground. Her colleagues from her adjacent cubicles looked at her sudden outburst. Her boss was walking towards her with a What-is-this-nonsense-? expression on his face, but Kalyani did not care anymore. She threw down her headset also and it joined the phone at his feet. Kalyani got up from her chair and walked out of her office into the night. She couldn’t live with the knowledge that she had something to do with someone’s death. She did not want to be a murderer. But she was more than happy to kill Sara. Yes, Sara had to be murdered. She was not Sara anymore. She never will be. She was Kalyani, and that’s who she was always going to be.


* Avail time – It is the time in between calls. Once a customer care agent finishes a call, he/she goes into the “Avail Mode” where he/she can attend to the next customer in the phone queue. And if there’s no customer waiting, the agent gets something like a free time where he is not on a call, but waiting for one. Avail time varies from company to company depending on the number of customers who call and the number of agents who are there to attend the calls. More agents, more avail time, less number of agents and many customers, less avail time. Avail time ranges from 2 seconds to maybe 5-6 minutes.

*Opening lines – The boring, factual welcome lines that you hear when you call any customer care agent. It states the agent’s name (some companies do not have this), the company name and the department and a greeting.

*AHT – It’s the abbreviation for Average Handling Time. The time an agent takes to handle a call and fix the issue is the Average Handling Time. The lesser the AHT, the better.

*Call Barging – It is when a third person barges into a call in progress. It is usually done to ensure the agents follow the company procedure and fix the issue without further dilly-dallying.

*CBN – CBN stands for Call Back Number. Almost all the major companied take this information so that they can call back the customer in case the phone call gets disconnected before the issue is resolved.

The house was an old sprawling villa. I first saw it when the old tenants, who were our family friends, were staying there.They were going through a rough patch in their lives and the house helped them to recover. Except for the drumstick tree and the date palm, the large area in front of the house used to be void of vegetation due to the presence of the rabbit population there. There were dozens of them running around- brown, white, gray, mixed, and they were so adorable! Occassionally some of the females would give birth and were given one of the huge bathrooms to be used as maternity wards. I used to love petting the rabbits while I waited for Rashid, my friend who lived there, to get ready for school.
My mother used to say that it was the stool of those rabbits that accounted for the vigorous growth of her vegetable garden. When we moved there in 1997, Rashid and his family had gone to settle in India by and his father had recommended us as the new tenants. And that’s how we got the house. It had three huge rooms, two bathrooms, one huge kitchen and a dining hall. The area at the front was changed into a flower and vegetable garden by my parents. My father did some major renovation and employed gardeners to till the area to be planted. A truck load of fine sand was leveled and then spread with manure. The end results were heavenly!
The next year, there was a huge bower of multi-coloured flowers and a vegetable garden where my father and mother harvested their own freshly grown vegetables. I used to bring the seeds from India. There were pumpkins, snake gourd, tomatoes, bitter gourd, egg plants chilli, tulsi, pomegranate and so much more! The photos of my sister witha huge pumpkin clasped in her arms were wonderful. My parents had green fingers, that was sure.And the drumstick tree was also very forthcoming with drumsticks. We could just walk through our garden to collect the ingredients for a sambaar. Next, Father cultivated the young date palm that Rashid’s mother had planted. He appointed special gardeners to tie the date palm with semen from other palms so that pollination occured. And the next year, there were sweet, syrupy dates to be had. They were a special breed, the best of the khlaas variety of dates. If there was nothing for breakfast, we would go outside and pluck a few dates and have them with milk. A more nutritious breakfast was never to be found. All our friends wanted a share of the harvest and Father was happy to oblige. Those were one some of the happiest years in Father’s life. When my uncle came from Saudi to visit his brother, he was astonished to see such an array of flowers and vegetables. My father had even tried a hand at planting plantains and papaya trees, both of which were not as successful as the rest. Still Father had managed to establish a curry leaf plant there and my mother would grab a handful of curry leaves through the kitchen window to flavour her curries.
In the year 1999, my husband-to-be came to see me for the first time in that same house. We were married in Bahrain on 17th February, 2000. The engagement had taken place a month ago at our house in Riffa, with everyone from the groom’s family coming to adorn the bride with jewels. It was an event in which the house shone. The petunias were in full bloom outside and garden chairs were arranged there. Inside, the living room was set up with a buffet table on which all kinds of traditional Keralite and western snacks were arranged for the men. The dining room was likewise arranged for the ladies. The party was a huge success! The reception was held in March and I came home with my husband for the first time. Almost a year later, our first child, Mohammed Roshan was born on 12th March 2001, at the BDF Hospital nearby and brought home to Riffa three days later. Oor first anniversary was spent cuddling our very own bundle of joy. Father was ecstatic to have a grandson to coddle and spoil and he was especially partial to Hammudi because he himself was a father of eight girls and no boys. He adored Hammudi. The next year, I gave him yet another grandson and that absolutely made his day. Rizwan was born on 23rd April 2002. a month or two after Mother came back from Hajj.
Every year, Father cultivated dates and drumsticks – the other vegetables were not just as good now, and so we stopped planting them. Through the years, even though I stayed in my husband’s house, We came visiting every week. My sons toddled their way through the flowers every year and soon both of them were running in to greet their grandparents and adoring aunts. They learnt to tricycle and swing from Riffa. My sisters from Abu Dhabi and Sharjah came visiting once in a while.
Through all this, the house was constant with us. The flowers drooped when my mother and sisters went to India for good so that my sisters could continue their higher studies there. The gardens were a constant comfort to my father when he spent lonely nights smoking and thinking of his family in India. My children loved their times playing house in the garden. Once, they even managed to build a little hut there by stacking bricks together and creating a carpetted roof.
All that finally came to an end when in 2008, the house was sold to an entrepreneur who wanted to reap his profits by demolishing the house and building a flat there so that it would be more cost-effective. We were asked to vacate. The house that Father then found was a studio apartment which fully consisted of less than one of the rooms in the old house.
Father moved, went to India for a couple of months, came back, had problems getting used to tha limited space in the new house and finally made his decision to leave for good. He left packing and taking away some of the the memories in terms of photos and bric-a-brac.
Six months later, Father also said goodbye to this world. His kidney had been weak; a fall and a couple of operations and medications later, it was claimed useless. The dialysis worked for less than a month and by then Father had stopped wanting to live. I was not there when he passed away. I was three days too late to see him. Mother and my sisters were devastated. Sometimes I think , he lost heart when we were asked to vacate the house. The trials and tribulations of daily life were not quite so trying when we lived there. The air, the trees, the whole environment in the neighbourhood were a balm for Father’s spirit. But Father had his own philosophies about life- that nothing was constant in this life. Neither the joys, nor the sorrows and he accepted it rather poorly.
We went there after the demolision. The site of the house had been razed to the ground. But where the drumstick tree had been, there stood a baby drumstick tree.
March 2012

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 47 other followers

Blog Stats

  • 12,249 hits