Friday, July 26, 2013

TRING- TRING... the phone rang

TRING  TRING … the phone Rang …


Good afternoon, this is Ana speaking. How may I help you today?

Hey .. my name is Mike and I have a bit of a trouble with my card payment.

Sure, can I have your …

Anandhi suppresses a yawn and continues with the trained upbeat tone that she has practiced for a long time now. When Mike has been attended to, with his holiday booking, she looks out of her window at the moonlit sky and instantly knows there is atleast another three hours to go before she can call it a night. From her cubicle on the 11th floor of the massive glass structure, of what was once a faraway suburb of a sleepy city, Anandhi gets a view of the six lane highway lit with passing vehicles and street lights.  


On either side of her building are two other massive glass structures brightly lit, floor by floor in the middle of the night.  Thousands of fellow workers are busy helping the Mikes, Rons and Anns of the world with their broken vaccum cleaners, insurance policies, virus infected laptops and holiday bookings over a call, from half way round on the other side of the earth.  

 By 6.00 in the morning, Anandhi  would board her cab that would drop her home. She would be just in time to wake up Rohan, her six year old son, get him ready, pack his lunch box , fix his  breakfast  and pack him off into the school bus by 8.30 a.m .

By about 10.00 am after the day’s chores are over, Anandhi would draw up the thick dark curtains over her bedroom windows and go to sleep.

TRING … TRING...the phone rang …


Good morning Mr. McArthur. What Can I do for you today? … says Bhavna with that trained upbeat tone.  
 Can you suck my dick … you bitch …
I will be happy if you can get this good for nothing cursor of mine to move on …

Certainly Mr. McArthur .. may I know which browser you are using ? …

Bhavna suppresses her irritation and continues with the trained upbeat tone with as much an authentic Accent as she can muster up.

It might unruffle the already exasperated Mr. McArthur if he suspected that the call was being answered by a brown skinned,  twenty something with an acne infested face in the middle of the night from half way round on the other side of the earth. 
    
For Bhavna, it has not been the best of days.
She has been irritated for a while now. 
And Mr. McArthur’s indecent request has nothing to do with it.
She is used to much worse from her callers.  

PMS, she hopes.  Pre menstrual syndrome.
She is actually looking forward to it.
It has been about 53 days since she last had it.
The red circles marked on her desktop calendar confirm that.
 Before that, it was 47 days and the one before that was delayed by months.     

PolyCystic Ovarian Disorder (PCOD) , explained her gyanecologist when she showed the test results.

When the circadian rhythms of your body clock get affected, it affects the production of your ovaries and the hormones. Very common in your profession, explained the doctor casually  without an eye-contact. That explained how many patients she sees with the same complaint during her course of the day.
  
PCOD is treatable. It requires a change in lifestyle.
The doctor had told her, when scribbling down the prescription that was to provide her some immediate relief by bringing on her long over -due periods that she was expecting today.  

Bhavna has made up her mind. When the phone does not ring she usually searches and applies for jobs on the job portals over her smartphone. She has been hoping to get a job that lets her sleep during the night and remain awake during the day.
But they pay less than half of what she currently gets and like everyone else she needs the extra money.
                                                                                                                         

Extra money... So that she can get married ASAP and start a family before infertility and other related disorders take over her life.   


TRING … TRING the phone rang …


Shireen has just finished her dinner when her mobile phone rang. It is about 9.15 pm. That must be her Cab driver.

Shireen has had a good day ( night) yesterday and she is happy.

Yesterday, during the quarterly Rewards and Recognition ceremony she was pleasantly surprised when she won the ‘soaring eagles’ trophy for best performance across North-West region. Her client manager had specially recommended her for the award citing her outspoken qualities and leadership abilities during the last three years with the team.

The cab driver is waiting outside on the main street. She looks out of the window from her first floor window to confirm the car number. Shireen pulls up her Burkha over her salwar kameez, slips into her sandals and walks towards her cab.  Her fellow cab mates are already asleep in the cab. She is usually the last to be picked up.

The cab driver, mumbles something about the traffic and the delays, and how he would lose half of his day’s wages for no fault of his and zooms the car past the narrow alleyways of her street into the main road.  From the middle of nowhere a motorbike emerges and stops in front of the cab.

B*&^%C ...D shouts the already frustrated cab driver, peeping his head out through the window of his vehicle to the two riders on the motorcycle.
The motorcyclists are unperturbed.  One of them quietly walks over, opens the door of the cab and pulls Shireen out.

Shireen protests and screams. The fellow passengers are woken up by the sudden brakes applied and screams emanating from the only female member of their cab.     

Before they realize what is happening, Shireen has been pulled out of the cab onto the ground and is being kicked around by the two gentlemen who alight from the motorcycle. Her fellow passengers get down and manage to stop the motorcyclists from bashing up Shireen.

Shireen gets up. Her clothes are torn and there are bruises all over her body.
What she says after that takes everyone by surprise. She asks her colleagues to move on, since this is a family matter and promises to explain to them in office the next day.

The next day, Shireen is back in office with a black eye and swollen jaw. Explanations are unnecessary.  To those around her cubicle, this is a familiar sight. This month, Shireen refused to part with her full salary. Even worse she had walked out on her husband a few weeks back and was staying at her mother’s place.
A bruised body, a swollen jaw and a black eye was the price she was paying for the decision.

TRING… TRING … the phone rang.

 

Congratulations Shireen, on winning soaring eagles award, beamed Jennfier’s voice from half way round on the other side of the earth. We are so proud of you. Outspoken leaders like you are an invaluable asset to our organization.  Keep up the good work.

Thank you Jenny, says Shireen, with the trained upbeat tone, suppressing the acute pain that shoots from her swollen Jaw.
     
 **********************************

This blog is based on true characters and happenings.
Some names have been changed to protect their privacy.   


This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda



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