The Indomitable Heart - S1 E2
Machaṅ
by Himayath Khan
5 min read
“You know, Avaneesh,” Arhan began.
“No, I don’t,” Avaneesh shot back.
“No, what I meant to say is...” continued Arhan.
“Then say it. Why begin with an Indian question instead!” replied Avaneesh.
Arhan paused, scratching his head. “Eh? Indian question?”
“Yes. Indian question.” smiled Avaneesh. You know the five W’s and one H rule, right?
“No, I don’t think I do.”
“Who? What? Where? When? Why? and How?”
Arhan leaned in, bringing his hand to his chin. “What about them?”
“These are the six essential words that help begin your questions when gathering information or when you want to solve a problem,” he paused.
“I see now how my beginning with ‘Do you know’ could be confusing.”
“Machaṅ, you didn’t use ‘do,’ just ‘you know.’
“Ah, yes. I did, didn’t I!” Arhan giggled, “I’m surprised to know grammar has a special Indian category of words we Indians use to question!”
“No, Machaṅ, grammar doesn’t have such a category. We chose to get categorised grammatically the day we began transliterating our languages while we spoke in English. When they returned to Britain, the Queen and her occupying subjects left us a few presents in a little basket. English is a present from that basket we’ve used to get ahead. So what if we tinkered with it to suit our necessities? So, chill.”
“Transliterating…” Arhan repeated, “Wow! Okay, now for my question,” he said, focusing his eyes. “It’s almost a given that there’s a thing about first and last benchers. The first are those who acquire knowledge by rote and are pretty good at it. In contrast, the last benchers live by the seam of their pants. Not too much for rote, but ones who get the gist of what’s being taught and, by some unwritten code, are good at skimming through tests when necessary. To my mind, you are a backbencher with all the characteristics of a first. So, why choose the first bench and be boring when we can sit in the last and have fun?”
“God! Whattay observation, I say!” exclaimed Avaneesh.
“Nodu Guru, it’s pretty simple. In school, we chose the last bench because our parents paid tuition for the administration to teach us, but I’m choosing to sit up front because this company is paying me to learn.”
“Ah, yes. That’s one way to think, I guess.”
“And, when I study and perform, there’s a bonus at the end of the year, too, Machaṅ. Avaneesh paused. “And,” he continued loudly, “that makes sitting up front attractive.”
“Makes sense, bro!” Arhan replied. Avaneesh reached out and fist-bumped Arhan. He continued to greet people seated on the bench next to his other side while Arhan looked at him.
Raising his eyebrows, “If only Arun could meet this guy,” he whispered.
Putting on an accent is different than putting on a fresh set of clothes for the day. If it were an intelligence agency’s training program, rigorous sessions over several months would be needed for trainees before they went live. However, trainees in call centres needed to be ready in under two months or less. Their advantage over the former was a script they’d follow for a few minutes when on a call, and et voila, they’d be sounding patriots convincingly.
The trainees had completed their two months of training, and their trainers had advised them to choose Americanised call identification names as they weren’t allowed to use their real names or disclose their actual locations. Arhan had developed a convincing Southern American accent yet remained to decide which name he’d want to use on calls.
Standing before the bathroom mirror back home, he said, “The name is Bond. James Bond.” He repeatedly spoke the famous line from Ian Fleming’s novels of the same name but sounded more like a Sufi song, albeit without melody or tune. His kid sister, passing outside, knocked on the bathroom door and shouted back,
“Bhaiya! The government ration card has your name down as Syed Arhan. I don’t think the shop owner will be convinced to hand you over James’ share of rations, too,” she laughed.
It was their first evening attempting to answer calls on the work floor. They were taken in batches of four to a cubicle where the three hovered, waiting while one was made to sit in front of the computer screen and handed over a headset attached to a fancy-looking telephone. Arhan’s face showed what his voice wasn’t telling. He was rubbing sweat off with a handkerchief, anxiously awaiting his turn. The colleague who went first was a confident young woman with an accent that could beat any New Yorker into thinking she had more claim to the city than them. When it was his turn, another colleague brought out a sheet of paper with a few answer codes written down regarding the technicalities of what could be faced on a call. Arhan had almost sat on the chair but jumped back out.
“Alex, I want to use the toilet,” he requested.
The trainer, a kindly American man, placed his hand on Arhan’s shoulder, “I’m going to be with you throughout the call. All you’ve got to do is answer the call, and I’ll do the rest,” he said, convincing Arhan.
Arhan nodded and, taking a moment, sat back in the chair and took a deep breath. And as if on cue, the phone rang. With another deep breath and with his trainer’s hand back on his shoulder, Arhaan answered his first call– “Thank you for calling America First. My name is Jake Steele. How may I help you today?” he said in an American accent enough to be approved for presidentship if voting people just by hearing their voices on telephones was enough to run for the top seat of the Senate.
“Hello, dear,” said a frail voice on the other end of the line. “I’d like to pay the minimum due on my card.”
“I can certainly help you with that. May I have your name and the last eight digits of your card account number, ma’am?” a confident-sounding Arhan replied.
Later that evening, Arhan and Avaneesh lined up in the canteen with their dinner trays on their dinner break.
“Machaṅ, congrats, da,” said Avaneesh. “I hear you did nicely on your first call.”
Thanks, Avi,” Arhan replied. “If it weren’t for Alex, I wouldn’t have faced that call, and I’m glad I did ’cause that customer, an old woman, was the nicest person on the telephone to start my Tele-calling career with,” he said, beginning to serve himself some food. Arhan looked up from his plate, proudly smiling at Avaneesh, “I didn’t hear. How was your first experience?” he asked when he noticed Avaneesh’s face turning white with concern.
“What happened?
“Look at the TV, Machaṅ,” Avaneesh replied.
With half their food served, they walked up to the TV set hung by the wall in the canteen. Other employees, some Americans, were also present in the hall and began gathering near the TV. Emerging visuals from New York of a plane crashing into the side of one of two tall glassy buildings were being repeatedly telecast. A thick murmur of people in the room grew louder than the already loud volume of the TV. Another plane crashed into another building. A woman in the canteen screamed out in horror. People were panicking, shouting, and crying out loud.
The security guards ran into the room. Not much for anything but protocol and unaware of the events on the TV, they approached the woman crying loudly, “Madam, what happened? Who touched you? Who was it, Madam? Please, tell me,” one of them asked her.
If you liked what you read, please consider buying me a coffee. :)
SCAN or CLICK
Subscribe to the newsletter
Work
Join our quarterly newsletter community to stay updated on the latest news, exclusive content, and upcoming Himayath Khan and Khanate Publishing events.
© Copyright 2023, Himayath Khan for Khanate Publishing. All rights reserved.