What does it mean to you?

He met her on a party. She was so outstanding, many guys chasing after
her, while he was so normal, nobody paid attention to him. At the end of
the party, he invited her to have coffee with him, she was surprised,
but due to being polite, she promised.

They sat in a nice coffee shop, he was too nervous to say anything, she
felt uncomfortable, she thought, please, let me go home.. Suddenly he
asked the waiter: "would you please give me some salt? I'd like to put
it in my coffee."

Everybody stared at him, so strange! His face turned red, but, still, he
put the salt in his coffee and drank it. She asked him curiously: why you
have this hobby?

He replied: "when I was a little boy, I was living near the sea,
I liked playing in the sea, I could feel the taste of the sea , just
like the taste of the salty coffee. Now every time I have the salty
coffee, I always think of my childhood, think of my hometown, I miss my
hometown so much, I miss my parents who are still living there". While
saying that tears filled his eyes. She was deeply touched.

That's his true feeling, from the bottom of his heart. A man who can
tell out his homesickness, he must be a man who loves home, cares about
home, has responsibility of home.. Then she also started to speak, spoke
about her faraway hometown, her childhood, her family. That was a really
nice talk, also a beautiful beginning of their story.

They continued to date. She found that actually he was a man who meets
all her demands; he had tolerance, was kind hearted, warm, careful. He
was such a good person but she almost missed him! Thanks to his salty
coffee! Then the story was just like every beautiful love story, the
princess married to the prince, then they were living the happy life...
And, every time she made coffee for him, she put some salt in the
coffee, as she knew that's the way he liked it.

After 40 years, he passed away, left her a letter which said: "My
dearest, please forgive me, forgive my whole life lie. This was the only
lie I said to you---the salty coffee. Remember the first time we dated?
I was so nervous at that time, actually I wanted some sugar, but I said
salt. It was hard for me to change so I just went ahead. I never thought
that could be the start of our communication!

I tried to tell you the truth many times in my life, but I was too
afraid to do that, as I have promised not to lie to you for anything..
Now I'm dying, I afraid of nothing so I tell you the truth: I don't like the
salty
coffee, what a strange bad taste.. But I have had the salty coffee for my
whole
life! Since I knew you, I never feel sorry for anything I do for you.
Having you with me is my biggest happiness for my whole life. If I can
live for the second time, still want to know you and have you for my
whole life, even though I have to drink the salty coffee again".

Her tears made the letter totally wet.

Someday, someone asked her: what's the taste of salty coffee?

It's sweet. She replied.

Love is not to forget
but to forgive
not to see
but understand
not to hear
but to listen
not to let go
but to HOLD ON !!!!

Love begins with a smile, grows with a kiss and ends with a tear.

The Power of Holding Hands

I was sitting on a beach one summer day, watching two children, a boy and a girl, playing in the sand.
They were hard at work building an elaborate sandcastle by the water's edge, with gates and towers and moats and internal passages.
Just when they had nearly finished their project, a big wave came along and knocked it down, reducing it to a heap of wet sand.

I expected the children to burst into tears, devastated by what had happened to all their hard work. But they surprised me.
Instead, they ran up the shore away from the water, laughing and holding hands, and sat down to build another castle.
I realized that they had taught me an important lesson.
All the things in our lives, all the complicated structures we spend so much time and energy creating, are built on sand.
Only our relationships to other people endure.
Sooner or later, the wave will come along and knock down what we have worked so hard to build up.
When that happens, only the person who has somebody's hand to hold will be able to laugh.

Life...

How's life.....
10 th Grade
As I sat there in English class,
I stared at the girl next to me.
She was my so called 'best friend'.
I stared at her long, silky hair,
and wished she was mine.
But she didn't notice me like that,
and I knew it. After class,
she walked up to me and asked me for
the notes she had missed the day before.
I handed them to her.
She said 'thanks' and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
I want to tell her, I want her to know
that I don t want to be just friends,
I love her but I'm just too shy,
and I don't know why.

11th grade
The phone rang. On the other end,
it was her. She was in tears,
mumbling on and on about how her
love had broke her heart.
She asked me to come over because
she didn't want to be alone, So I did.
As I sat next to her on the sofa,
I stared at her soft eyes, wishing she was mine.
After 2 hours, one Drew Barrymore movie,
and three bags of chips, she decided to go home.
She looked at me, said 'thanks' and gave me a kiss
on the cheek..
I want to tell her, I want her to know that
I don't want to be just friends,
I love her but I'm just too shy,
and I don t know why.

Senior year
One fine day she walked to my locker.
"My date is sick" she said, "he's not gonna go" well,
I didn't have a date, and in 7th grade,
we made a promise that if neither of us had dates,
we would go together just as 'best friends'.
So we did. That night, after everything was over,
I was standing at her front door step.
I stared at her as She smiled at me
and stared at me with her crystal eyes. Then she said- "I had the best time,
thanks!"
and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
I want to tell her,
I want her to know
that I don t want to be just friends,
I love her but I'm just too shy,
and I don't know why.

Graduation.
A day passed, then a week, then a month.
Before I could blink, it was graduation day.
I watched as her perfect body floated like an angel
up on stage to get her diploma.
I wanted her to be mine-but
she didn't notice me like that, and I knew it.
Before everyone went home,
she came to me in her smock and hat,
and cried as I hugged her.
Then she lifted her head from my shoulder
and said- 'you're my best friend, thanks' and
gave me a kiss on the cheek.
I want to tell her, I want her to know
that I don t want to be just friend! s,
I love her but I'm just too shy,
and I don't know why.

Marriage.
Now I sit in the pews of the church.
That girl is getting married now.
and drive off to her new life,
married to another man.
I wanted her to be mine,
but she didn't see me like that,
and I knew it.
But before she drove away,
she came to me and said 'you came !'.
She said 'thanks' and kissed me on the cheek.
I want her to know that
I don't want to be just friends,
I love her but I'm just too shy,
and I don't know why.

Death.
Years passed, I looked down at the coffin
of a girl who used to be my 'best friend'.
At the service, they read a diary entry
she had wrote in her high school years.
This is what it read:
"I stare at him wishing he was mine;
but he doesn't no! tice me like that,
and I know it. I want to tell him,
I want him to know that
I don't want to be just friends,
I love him but I'm just too shy,
and I don't know why.
I wish he would tell me he loved me !
.........'I wish I did too...'
I thought to my self, and I cried.

Do yourself a favour, tell her/him you love them.
They won't be there...................Forever.

Climax

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I cannot
describe her beauty in the limited time I have here. I was 23 and fresh out of
college, when I saw her. I don't know if it was the hormones but I loved her at
first sight. She was the girl of my dreams.

It is said that matches our made in heaven. It was sheer destiny that we were
traveling to Chennai on the same train, The Niligiri Express. We were in the same
compartment, S1 and were seated next to each other, 25 and 26. It was an amazing
coincidence as my ticket had been confirmed only at the last minute.

"Hi, my name is Shalini," she introduced herself with a beaming smile.
She stretched out her right hand. I was shivering when I shook it.

"I am Sunderesan," I said and added, "Pleased to meet you."

She had a serene, innocent face; the face of the kind of person who gets bullied
in school. The image of a woman who couldn't hurt a fly if she wanted to.

"How old are you?" I blurted out. It was the worst question to ask a
woman but I was a nervous wreck and I wanted to talk to this woman.

She smiled at me and said, "Never ask a man his salary and a woman her age."

"I'm so sorry. I don't..." My tongue adamantly stuck to the roof of
my mouth

"No, it is okay. Let us say, I will be sixty seven in 2050."

I worked out the math. She was twenty two. I was twenty three. It was perfect!
A match made in heaven.

"Do you have a crush on me?" she asked.

"What? How could you ask...?"

"Do you have a crush on me or not?" she asked emphasizing on 'crush'.

"To tell you the truth, yes," I said meekly.

"It's okay. You can be bold about it. I'll tell you a little secret."

She pulled my ear next to her mouth and whispered, "I think you are attractive.
I might even love you. Can I kiss you?"

I nodded. She kissed me on my cheek. I turned pink the next moment.

"Hey you believed me, didn't you? April fool, go to school. Tell your teacher,
you are a fool," she shouted. She laughed at the top of her voice.

I checked my watch. It was April 1st, 2005 and I had been made a jackass. I didn't
want to look at the woman's face again. I loved her but I hated her for what she
had done. I turned to the opposite side and stared out of the window.

She noticed my sulking face.

"Hey, don't get mad at me. It was a joke. That's all. I'm sorry," she
said.

I didn't look at her and didn't reply.

"Okay. What can I do to compensate?"

"You could sing a song for me," I said softly. I wanted to know how
well my girl could sing.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you." She stood up and went
to the centre of the compartment.

"Friends, we have a birthday boy in our midst. I want all of you to wish
him happy birthday."

The entire compartment including the TTE (Train Ticket Examiner) was singing "Happy
birthday to Sunderesan."

She took out a vegetable sandwich from her bag. She said that it was a substitute
for a cake. I cut the sandwich and gave her the first piece. She removed the tomato
and cucumber from the sandwich. She pasted the cucumber and tomato all over my
face. I distributed the remaining bits of the sandwich to everyone in the compartment.
It was the best birthday I had ever had.

When all the euphoria died I asked her, "How did you know that it was my
birthday?"

She pointed to the card on top of my bag.

"Will you make a birthday resolution for me?" she asked.

"Sure. Tell me."

"Promise to always smile because life presents too many opportunities to
cry. And you look ugly when you are sad."

"It is a promise." I rested my palm on top of hers.

The perfectly romantic scene was disturbed by a child's cry coming from the adjoining
apartment. She took her hand off mine. I thought, "Damn, tough luck."

She went to the next compartment to see what the problem was. The boy was two
years old and his mother was not to be found. Nobody seemed to care about the
boy.

She carried the boy in her arms and brought him to our compartment. She cajoled
the boy by singing a lullaby for him. She had a sweet voice; the voice of a nightingale.

"I love kids," she said.

"I love kids, too," I replied, eager to show we had similar tastes.

The boy did not stop crying. He appeared to be terrified of us. His mother was
nowhere to be seen.

"You don't like songs. Okay, I will tell you a story. Once upon a time, in
a faraway land, there lived a king."

The boy listened intently for a second but started crying as soon as she paused.

"Hey, relax. Give me time to think of a story. You are an impatient baby.
In this land..."

"I will look for the boy's mother," I said. She nodded her head.

I found the boy's mother, two compartments away. She had gone there to meet a
friend. She had forgotten about her kid.

When we came back to S1, we found the boy sound asleep in Shalini's lap. She had
used all her powers of persuasion to make him feel secure in her lap.

"I want to thank..."

"Shh...Your son is sleeping. Don't disturb him," she whispered to the
boy's mother and gave the boy to her.

"Do you want the Nobel peace prize?" I asked her cynically.

"I love people. When I am around, the people around me should be happy. That
is my philosophy in life," she said, sincerely.

It made me feel small and stupid in front of her. I began to rethink about my
mission in life. Should I be a priest? No, can't marry her. Social worker, peace
activist...maybe.

We heard a voice in the distance shouting "Is there a doctor on this train?"

"Dr. Shalini, here. How can I help you?" she shouted back.

We waited to see the face of the voice we had heard. It was a co-passenger, a
bearded man who seemed anxious.

"Doctor, my father is serious. Please do something."

"Come with me. You could be of help," she told me. She caught hold of
my arm and guided me along the compartment. I had absolutely no say in the matter.
Oh! The power of women!

The old man was in a grave condition. His breathing was heavy and he was coughing
profusely. He seemed ready to make peace with god. "Open the windows,"
she told me. I opened all the windows to allow fresh air to come in.

"Hold him up for me," she instructed.

I made the old man sit up. She took out her stethoscope and checked his heartbeat.
She checked his pulse for variations.

I watched her lovingly as she worked her magic on the old man. She was so soft
and tender with people. Whether it was a little boy or an old man, she had so
much affection for them. Unbelievably, the old man was normal within half an hour.
His son didn't have enough words to thank Shalini.

"He is okay now. Don't disturb him. Let him sleep well," she instructed
him.

"I never expected you to be a doctor," I said.

"Men always think that beautiful women don't have brains."

I didn't know how to reply to that remark. Did she mean that she was beautiful,
or brainy or both. One can never understand a woman's mind. So, I diverted the
conversation.

"What made you become a doctor?" I asked.

"A lot of things. It was my father's dream. Above all else, it gives me the
power to make people smile; the power to save lives."

"Will you marry me?" I asked, spontaneously. I had never been more sure
of myself.

"Is this April fool?"

"No. I am serious. See, I know that I am unemployed. I am not even as educated
as you. I don't even look good. I have no caliber. But I love you. Will you marry
me?"

"You know nothing about me. I don't like commitments. I live every day like
it is my last."

"If you marry me, I will live everyday like it is my first."

She closed her beautiful eyes. She took a deep breath and thought for a moment.
The suspense was killing.

"God, why didn't I meet you earlier," she said.

I had no time to reply. The doors to my mouth were sealed by her lips. I thought
that my head was immersed in the clouds. The people in my compartment pretended
to close their eyes. But I could see the men looking at me with envy through the
corner of their eyes. It was the most beautiful moment of my life. It still is
the most beautiful.

The train came to a screeching halt. We had reached Tirupur station. It was hard
to believe that so much had happened in two hours.

There are some moments in life which you can remember even in your sleep. For
me, it was what happened at Tirupur railway station. It redefined my life forever.

"I am hungry. Get me something to eat," said Shalini. She dug into her
leather handbag and brought out twenty rupees.

"It's okay. I have money. What do you want?"

"Get me Strawberry milk to drink. And honey, I love you," she said,
earnestly.

We kissed again. For the last time.

The milk booth was about hundred feet from S1. It gave me time to think about
the sudden changes in my life. My parents were conservative people. I had to convince
them about Shalini. If they agreed, good. If not, who cares? I loved Shalini more
than my parents.

My thoughts were disrupted by the sound of an explosion. It sounded like the aggregation
of a thousand thunders. The impact of the explosion threw me off my feet. I turned
to look at the train. S1, S2 and S3 had been reduced to pieces, like waste in
a manufacturing process.

My only thought was about Shalini. I ran towards where S1 had previously been.
I searched for her amidst the corpses. All I could find were severed hands, burnt
flesh and a fresh stream of blood. Not a single body was identifiable in the three
compartments.

Who on earth could do such a cruel thing, I wondered. I swore that I would get
even with the people who had taken my beloved Shalini's life. I wept like a little
boy who had lost his favorite toy. Amidst the tears, I thought about the two hours
I had spent with Shalini. Something she had said had struck me as strange.

"You know nothing about me. I live everyday like it is my last. God, I wish
I had met you earlier." "Could it be Shalini," I wondered. "No,
not Shalini. She had too innocent a face to do such a dastardly act. Besides,
she was a doctor. And they know the value of a human life," I reasoned to
myself.

The next morning, my worst fears were confirmed. A newspaper report said, "A
twenty two year old doctor named Shalini had committed suicide on the Niligiri
express. She had taken the lives of hundred people with her. The reasons for the
attack are unknown."

I never understood the reasons for the attack. It could have been personal or
ideological. All I can still remember is her face, how innocent it looked. How
she made everyone around her happy. How she showed love and care to kids and old
men alike.

That face was a mask. Beneath the benevolent mask, was the true Shalini. A hard-nosed,
sadistic, terrorist capable of sacrificing human life to satisfy her selfish needs.

She truly changed my life. From then on, I realized that every human wears a mask
which he develops over a period of time. It is the mask which is exposed to the
world. Beneath that mask, after layers of deceit there lies the true nature of
each individual. This real person in each one of us is intricately more fascinating
than any figment of wild imagination.

Shalini's mask was my first love. I will always love her

One night @ the call center

Recently I came across a fabulous book "One night @ the call center"
This is the book by "Chetan Bhagat" author of yet another good and amazing book "5 point someone"
Here is prologue of the book "One night @ the call center" for you:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prologue

The night train ride from Kanpur to Delhi was the most memorable
journey of my life. For one, it gave me my second book. And two, it is not everyday
you sit in an empty compartment and a young, pretty girl walks in.

Yes, you see it in the movies, you hear about it from friends' friends but it
never happens to you. When I was younger, I used to check the reservation chart
stuck outside a train bogie to see all the female passengers near my seat (F-17
to F-25 is what I'd look for most). Yet, it never happened. In most cases, I
shared my compartment with talkative women, snoring men and wailing infants.


But this night was different. Firstly, my compartment was empty. The railways
had just started this new summer train and nobody knew about it. Secondly, I
was unable to sleep.

I had come to IIT Kanpur for a talk. Before leaving, I drank four cups of coffee
in the canteen chatting with the students. Bad idea, given it was going to be
boring to spend eight insomniac hours in an empty compartment. I had no magazines
or books to read. I could hardly see anything out of the window in the darkness.
I prepared myself for a silent and dull night. Of course, it was anything but
that.

She walked in five minutes after the train had left the station. She opened
the curtains of my enclosure and looked puzzled.

"Is coach A4, seat 63 here?" she said.

The yellow light bulb in my compartment had a mood of its own. It flickered
as I looked up to see her.

"Huh..," I said as I saw her face. It was difficult to withdraw from
the gaze of her eyes.

"Actually it is. My seat is right in front of you," she said and heaved
her heavy suitcase on the upper berth. She sat down on the lower berth opposite
to me, and gave out a sigh of relief.

"I climbed on the wrong coach. Luckily this train is connected," she
said, adjusting her long hair that ended in countless ringlets. From the corner
of my eye I tried to see her. She was young, maybe early to mid twenties. Her
waist length hair had a life of its own, a strand falling on her forehead repeatedly.
I could not see her face closely, but I could tell one thing - she was pretty.
And her eyes - once you looked into them, you could not turn away. I kept my
gaze down.

She re-arranged stuff in her handbag. I tried to look out of the window. It
was completely dark.

"So, pretty empty train," she said after ten minutes.

"Yes, I said. It is the new holiday special. They just started it, without
telling people about it."

"No wonder. Otherwise, trains are always full at this time."

"It will get full. Don't worry. Just give it a few days," I said and
leaned forward," Hi. I am Chetan by the way, Chetan Bhagat."

"Hi," she said and looked at me for a few seconds, "Chetan as
in...I don't know, your name sounds familiar."

Now this was cool. It meant she had heard of my first book. I am recognized
rarely. And of course, it had never happened with a girl on a night train.

"You might have heard of my book - Five Point Someone. I am the author,"
I said.

"Oh yes," she said and paused, "Oh yes, of course. I have read
your book. The three underperformers and the prof's daughter one, right?"
she said.

"Yes," I said, "So how did you like it?"

"It was all right," she said.

I was taken aback. Man, I could have done with a little more of a compliment
here.

"Just all right?" I said, obviously fishing a bit too hard.

"Well," she said and paused.

"Well what?" I said after ten seconds.

"Well. Yeah, just all right...ok ok types," she said.

I kept quiet. She noticed my facial expression of mild disappointment.

"Anyway, nice to meet you Chetan. Where are you coming from? IIT Kanpur?"

"Yes," I said, my voice less friendly than a few moments ago, "I
gave a talk there."

"Oh really? About what?"

"About my book - you know the just ok-ok type one. Some people do want
to hear about it," I said, keeping a sweet tone to sugar-coat my sarcasm
filled words.

"Interesting," she said and turned quiet again.

I was quiet too. I didn't want to speak to her anymore. I wanted my empty compartment
back.

The flickering yellow light above was irritating me. I wondered if I should
just shut it off, but it was not that late yet.

"What's the next station? Is it a non-stop train," she said after
five minutes, obviously to make conversation.

"I don't know," I said and turned to look at the windows again. I
couldn’t see anything in the darkness.

"Is everything ok?" she asked softly.

"Yes, why?" I said. The tone of my ‘why' gave away that everything
was not ok.

"Nothing. You upset about what I said about your book right?"

"Not really," I said.

She laughed. I looked at her. Just like her gaze, her smile was arresting too.
I knew she was laughing at me, but I wanted her to keep smiling. I pulled my
eyes away again.

"Listen. I know your book did well. You are like this youth writer and
everything. But at one level...just forget it."

"What?" I said.

"At one level, you are hardly a youth writer."

I turned silent and looked at her for a few seconds. Her magnetic eyes had a
soft but insistent gaze.

"I thought I wrote a book about college kids. That isn't youth?" I
said.

"Yeah right. So, you wrote a book on IIT. A place where so few people get
to go. You think that represents the entire youth?" she said and took out
a box of mints from her bag.

She offered me one, but I declined. I wanted to get this straight.

"So what are you trying to say? I had to start somewhere, so I wrote about
my college experiences. And you know the story is not so IIT specific. It could
have happened anywhere. I mean, just for that you are trashing my book."

"I am not trashing it. I am just saying it hardly represents the Indian
youth," she said and closed back the box of mints.

"Oh really..," I said but was interrupted by the noise as the train
passed over a long river bridge.

We didn’t speak for the next three minutes, until the train returned to
smoother tracks.

"What represents the youth?" I said.

"I don't know. You are the writer. You figure it out," she said, and
brushed aside a few curls that had fallen on her forehead.

"That's not fair," I said, "that is so not fair." I sounded
like a five year old throwing a tantrum. She smiled as she saw me grumbling
to myself. A few seconds later, she spoke again.

"Are you going to write more books?" she said.

"I'll try to," I said. I wasn't sure if I ever wanted to talk to her
again.

"So what is going to be? IIMs this time?" she said.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it does not represent the country's youth," I said.

She started laughing.

"See I am taking feedback. And now you laugh at me," I said.

"No, no," she said, "I am not laughing at you. Can you stop being
so over-sensitive?"

"I am not over-sensitive. I just want to take feedback," I said and
turned my face away.

"Well, well now. Let me explain. See I just felt the whole IITian thing
is cool and all, but what does it all mean in the broader sense. Yes, the book
sells and you get to go to IIT Kanpur. But is that what it is all about?"
she said.

"Well, then what is it about?"

"If you want to write about the youth, shouldn't you talk about young people
who really face challenges? I mean yes, IITians face challenges, but what about
the hundreds and thousands of other youth?"

"Like whom."

"Just look around you. What is the biggest segment of youth facing challenges
in modern India?"

"I don't know. Students?"

"Not those Mr. Writer. Get out of the student-campus of your first book
now? Anything else you see that you find strange and interesting? I mean, what
is the subject of your second novel?" she said.

I turned up to look at her carefully for the first time. Maybe it was the time
of the night - but I kid you not, she was one of the most beautiful women I
had ever seen. Everything about her was perfect. Her face was like that of a
child. She wore a little bindi, which was hard to focus on as her eyes came
in the way.

I went back to her question.

"Second novel? No, haven't thought of a subject yet," I said.

"Really? Don't you have any ideas?"

"I do. But nothing I am sure about."

"Inte..resting," she drawled, "Well, just bask in your first
book then."

We kept quiet for the next half an hour. I took out the contents of my overnight
bag and rearranged them for no particular reason. I wondered if it even made
sense to change into a nightsuit. I was not going to fall asleep anyway. Another
train noisily trundled past us in the opposite direction, leaving silence behind.

"I might have a story idea for you," she said, almost startling me.

"Huh?" I was wary of what she was going to say. For no matter what
her idea was, I had to appear interested.

"What is it?"

"It is a story about a call center."

"Really?" I said," Call centers as in business process outsourcing
centers or BPOs?"

"Yes, do you know anything about them?"

I thought about it. I did know about call centers, mostly from my cousins who
worked there.

"Yes, I know a little bit," I said, "Some 300,000 people work
in the industry. They help US companies in sales, service and maintenance of
their operations. Usually younger people work there in night shifts. Quite interesting,
actually."

"Just interesting? Have you ever thought of what all they have to face?"
she said, her voice turning firm again.

"No," I said.

"Why? They aren't the youth? You don't want to cover them?" she said,
almost scolding me.

"Listen, let's not start arguing again..."

"I am not. I told you that I have a call center story for you."

I looked at my watch. It was 12.30 a.m. A story would not be such a bad idea
to kill time, I thought.

"Let's hear it then," I said.

"I can tell you. But I have a condition," she said.

Condition? I was puzzled. How can you have conditions in storytelling?

"What condition? That I don’t tell it to anyone else?"

"No. Just the opposite, in fact. You have to promise me to write it as
your second book."

"What?" I said and almost jumped from my seat.

Wow! Now that was something. OK, so I meet a girl who appears interesting and
had a pair of nice eyes and looks like she can tell me a story to kill time.
However, it does not mean I will listen to it and spend two years of my life
turning it into a book.

"Like a full book? Are you kidding? I cannot promise that. It is a lot
of work," I said.

"Up to you," she said and turned silent.

I waited for ten seconds. She did not speak.

"Can't I decide on that after you tell me the story?" I said, "If
it is interesting, I may even do it. But how can I decide without listening
to it."

"No. It is not about choice. If I tell you, you have to write it,"
she said.

"Like write a whole book on it?" I said.

"Yes. Like it is your own story. In first person - just as your first book.
I’ll give you the contacts of people in the story. You can meet them,
do your research, whatever it takes, but make it your second book."

"Well then I think it is better if you don't tell me," I said.

"Up to you," she said and became quiet. She turned around to spread
a bedsheet on her berth, and arranged the pillows and blankets. I guess she
was planning to go to sleep.

I checked my watch again. It was 01:00 a.m., and I was still wide awake. This
was a non-stop train, and there were no stations to look forward to until Delhi
in the morning. She switched off the flickering yellow light. A mysterious blue
light bulb was the only night light in the compartment. It felt strange, like
we were the only two people in the universe.

As she was sliding under her blanket, I asked, "What is the story about?
At least tell me a little bit more."

"Will you do it then?"

I shrugged in the semi-darkness. "Can't say. Do not tell me the story yet.
But at least tell me what it is about."

She nodded and came out of her blanket. She sat cross-legged opposite me as
she began talking.

"Allright," she said, "It is a story about six people in a call
center on one night."

"Just one night? Like this one?" I interrupted.

"Yes, one night. One night at the call center."

"You sure that can be a full book? I mean, what is so special about this
night?"

She heaved a sigh and took a sip from her bottle of mineral water.

"You see," she said, "It wasn't like any other night. It was
a night there was a phone call."

"What?" I said and burst out laughing, "So a call center gets
a phone call. That is the special part?"

She did not smile back. She waited for my amusement to end.

"You see," she continued, "It wasn't an ordinary phone call.
It was the night...it was the night there was a phone call from God."

Her words had me spring to attention.

"What?".

"You heard me. That night there was a phone call from God," she said.

"What exactly are you talking about?"

"I just told you what the story was about. You asked, remember?" she
said.

"And then.. how...I mean!"

"I am not telling you anymore. You know what the story is about. If you
want to hear the story, you know my condition."

"That is a tough condition," I said.

"I know. Up to you," she said and lifted her blanket again. She lay
down and closed her eyes.

Six people. One night. Call Center. Call from God. The phrases kept repeating
in my head as another hour passed. At 2:00 a.m., she woke up to have a sip of
water.

"Not sleeping?," she asked with eyes only half open.

Maybe there was a voltage problem, but this time even the blue light started
flickering in the compartment.

"No, not sleepy at all," I said.

"OK, goodnight anyway," she said, as she was about to lie down again.

"Listen," I said, "Get up. Sit down again."

"Huh?" she said, rubbing her eyes, "Why? What happened?"

"Nothing. You tell me what happened. Tell me the story," I said.

"So you will write it?"

"Yes," I said, with a bit of hesitation.

"Good," she said, and sat up again. The cross-legged position was
back.

Over the rest of the night, she told me the story that begins from the next
page. It is a story about six people, three guys and three girls who worked
at the Connexions Call Center. I chose to tell the story through Shyam's eyes.
This is because after I met him, I found him closest to me as a person. The
rest of the people and what happened that night - well, I will let Shyam tell
you that.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cheers,
Saggy