A Voice and Two Glasses

Adarsh felt that disconnected feeling he knew so well again this morning at work. Though the caverns of the call center hummed mightily around him, he felt transient, empty, like his own feet may not be attached to his body. A ten hour shift with just two breaks glared at him like the halogen light fixtures above. He knew he was fortunate to have the job, but the thought of fielding angry customer calls on this day would have crushed him if he let it. Disconnection was the only option.

His computer light blinked red. A product replacement. Someone, somewhere in the world was unhappy. “Thank you for calling, this is Steve,” Adarsh strained with thick native West Indian inflection, “how may I assist you today?”

The divorce had been finalized over the weekend, and though he knew it was coming for months, he couldn’t wrap his head around the finality of it all. It felt like an expensive wine glass breaking: this once beautiful, functional, radiant work of art was left in shards, and nothing was left to do but put it in the bin.

In the eyes of his culture, Adarsh had married up, which seemed like a blessing at the time. They moved into a better neighborhood than he had ever lived in and settled into a satisfying, albeit stressful life. His father-in-law had even gotten him out of the sorting facility and into the call center of his employer. The company made him change his name while speaking on the phone, but that seemed to Adarsh like a reasonable trade considering how much better life would be out of the warehouse. All of the possibility had once made him giddy with excitement.

But now everything that seemed like a blessing was being used against him: he would keep the job, but everything else was being taken back thanks to lawyers he couldn’t afford to fight. He felt naked and ashamed, like the victim of a robbery. He often wondered what he could have done differently, then tried to resign his plight to simply fate written in the book. To ponder anything more hurt too much.

In a flash, Adarsh broke eye contact with the lights above and stared intently at his keyboard. The most beautiful, gently soothing voice he had ever heard was speaking to him on the line.

“Hi,” the voice said with a pregnant pause, “…Steve. My wine delivery arrived yesterday with some bottles missing. A 2016 Merlot that I specifically ordered. Can you schedule me a redelivery? I’m hosting a celebration for my older sister tonight; I really need those bottles.”

Even in her duress Adarsh thought she sounded lovely. She shared his native accent as well, which was rare, considering he only fielded calls from North America. Either she had moved overseas and was calling from across the world, or the phone system had accidentally routed a local call to his station. No matter; for the first time in weeks, he felt invigorated.

“Of course, I’m happy to help. Please stay on the line while I pull up your account,” Adarsh said as he typed. He knew the script by heart, and he knew the penalties for breaking from it…but he couldn’t help himself. The words came up like they were someone else’s entirely.

“Is she getting married?” he blurted out, more inquisitive than professional.

“Excuse me?” replied the voice, slightly confused.

“Your sister. Is the wine for her nischitartham?”

“Oh,” the woman said with a sigh and a chuckle, “yes that’s exactly it, how did you know?”

“The wine you chose is so elegant—I assumed it must be a gift for a wedding. I’m looking at your account now. Not many people know what to buy. We mostly only sell the inexpensive kinds, but you ordered a fantastic mix of price and quality. My name is Adarsh by the way, not Steve.”

In her response, the distinct purity in her voice softened even more, now without the hint of annoyance it once had: “You’re sweet, Adarsh. My name is Prisha, but you probably already knew that,” she chuckled lightly.

Adarsh felt his face redden with a mix of eagerness and boyish embarrassment. Something about her tone transported him to a place where things mattered again. She was just a voice on a line, not much different than the thousands he had heard before, but in some small way completely different than all that ever came before her. More so than anything else, he simply felt gratitude for the conversation.

“Do you like wine, Adarsh?” she continued.

“It’s a great passion of mine, yes,” he replied. He had learned quickly to keep this little secret to himself around his ex-wife’s family. Being from a lower class was difficult enough without being labeled a drunk as well. But he never drank wine to feel drunk; to him, it was an artistic experience, like owning a great painting or sculpture. The grapes, the time, the craftsmanship. It was something that he respected more than craved. But not everyone in his predominantly Hindu country felt the same way.

Prisha lit up: “Mine too! But nobody in my family seems to care much one way or another. They either disapprove or don’t understand it. I’m trying so hard to do everything I can to make the festivities perfect. Love and loyalty for my family are the most important to me. I want to get the best of everything.”

Adarsh could certainly relate: “I don’t know anyone in Mumbai who shares my passion. If someone did all of that work for me, it would make me very happy.” He was veering too far off script now and he knew it. Occasional small talk was allowed, but he worked in a volume business, and he was wasting precious time that could be used on other customers. Soon a supervisor monitoring the call would come give him ‘the look,’ and the look meant you were minutes away from being fired. For this brief moment in time, though, all that mattered to Adarsh was Prisha.

“You live in Mumbai?” she asked. “As do I, in Pali Hill! What a beautiful coincidence from God.” Adarsh couldn’t believe how close she lived to him—just a few minutes by bike. He wondered how long she’d been there, so close to the apartment he once shared with his now ex-wife. In the midst of all of his grief, this heartwarming soul had been near to him the entire time. Maybe they had passed each other in the street or in the market, he wondered. Maybe they had once shared a glance at lunch. His mind raced with curiosity.

If he was ever to know more about Prisha, he had to act quickly. He knew that time wasn’t on his side, and that what he wanted to do next would likely cost him his job, but he didn’t care. He glanced back up to the ceiling. All of a sudden those white halogen lights above weren’t so soul-sucking. In fact, he felt them now almost beckoning him to a new life: one above the fray and commotion of the cubicle maze he found himself in day in and day out. He wanted to do something rash, but how could he?

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see how the new shipment can arrive in time for your party. I can issue you a refund, or schedule a shipment for tomorrow afternoon. I know how much this means to you,” Adarsh said stoically, buying time.

He could feel her heart sink over the phone as she accepted the realities of the situation. Even in defeat, she still sounded elegant and graceful, and he instantly loved this about her. He so desperately wanted to make things right for Prisha; this person who, for a moment, had made things a little more alright for him. If something was going to change for him, it needed to happen now.

“This is going to sound unbelievable,” he stammered, “but I have a bottle of this exact wine at my apartment. It was given to us, to me, as a gift, but I think you should have it. I can meet you somewhere, maybe the park, and give it to you, if it would help you have a successful night.”

Prisha gasped with amazed delight. “You would do that for me? That’s such a sweet offer. Do you live nearby?" Before he could answer she jumped back in. "Actually no, I couldn’t accept that. You don’t know me at all, it wouldn’t be right.”

Not one but two supervisors appeared at Adarsh’s station with contorted faces. Offering to meet someone publicly from the customer service desk was strictly prohibited. Their eyes bulged out of their heads as they mouthed for him to transfer the call. A few neighboring service reps looked on in confusion at what was happening. Adarsh knew he had one last chance to walk back the offer and get back to the script to save his job. He glanced up at the supervisors, and then spoke more deliberately than he had in years.

“It would be my pleasure, Prisha. Tonight at six, in the park by the pier, I’ll be wearing a jacket and a hat, and will bring your bottle of wine. I understand if you choose not to come, but I’ll be there. Whatever will be will be.”

Adarsh beamed with confidence. He had a date with his own karmic destiny, whether Prisha showed up or not. To him, it was now written in the stars.

The next few minutes were a blur. Life seemed to move in a quiet, yet chaotic slow motion. The phone line was manually disconnected, and Adarsh was fairly sure that whatever words coming from his supervisors' lips meant he was being fired. His coworkers sat staring at him, mouth agape, shocked and fearful. This is what he must have looked like when he received the news of his wife’s divorce papers, he thought to himself with a chuckle.

As he walked out moments later, he did so with his head held high, and he knew exactly where he was going. Tonight, with a bottle of Merlot in tow, he would meet a woman; a woman who was gentle and caring and even shared his love of wine. Tonight, he would introduce himself, smile, and be polite. He knew nothing but her voice, and expected nothing but a smile. Tonight, the world was teeming with possibility.

As he left the call center, there was no unease or pressure in his chest; no overzealousness or desperation. Just pure anticipation and excitement. For the first time in months, he felt connected to something—like he was in charge of his own fate.

The warm summer air hit him as the sun replaced the piercing white lights from inside the building, and he smiled.

I may even bring a couple of glasses, he thought, just in case she’s as beautiful in person as she is in my mind.