Miss New India - Bharati Mukherjee [74]
"India was déclassé, and Indian-accented English laughed at," Usha continued. "So what does that do to a well-prepared, intelligent, motivated young agent who's mocked as soon as she opens her mouth? That's what we told our corporate clients. Do you want a human answering tape, or do you want a proactive, efficient employee?"
"Some of them came around," Parvati said. "They said just make sure our customers can understand the English that the agents speak." Her own accent was eerily perfect American. She spoke of having trained young women from mofussil towns and villages to handle complicated questions on insurance claims. Women who might have remained illiterate and dependent were now earning decent paychecks. "The point Usha and I have made is that the Indian accent is a sign of competence."
They were the experts, with their professional degrees and their years of experience with comparative business models and communications systems, but they just didn't get it: to a Gauripur runaway like her, Bangalore wasn't about global economics. It was an emotional and moral tsunami; it washed away old beliefs and traditions, the comforting ones together with the crippling, and if you survived, you knew you had the spunk and the grit to rebuild. "Excuse me, madam," Anjali interjected, and she suddenly found herself standing, the focus of everyone's attention. "It's more."
If Usha Desai was irritated at being interrupted, she didn't show it. "Please, Miss Bose, continue," she said, smiling; then she sat down.
Anjali had meant just to listen, just to absorb ideas, but now she was on her feet. And there was Mr. GG, also on his feet, raising his goblet of water in a toast.
Everyone at the table turned to Mr. GG, though none of them lifted their glasses. "Let's hear from the young women themselves," he urged, but his eyes were fastened on unemployed Anjali.
"Go on," Tookie urged Anjali. "You start."
The debaters stared at Anjali. She had their full attention. There was no backing away now.
"Hear, hear!" Mr. GG beamed at her. "Speech, please. We're all ears.
Let words tumble off my tongue, she prayed. "I have been in Bangalore only three weeks. I have no job, no paycheck, and no family here. But I have seen more and learned more in Bangalore than I have from twenty years in Gauripur. Here I feel I can do anything. I feel I can change my life if that's what I want!"
"Brava!" Tookie applauded.
Even shy Sunita dared to speak. "And I do change lives. It's not glamorous work, my life hasn't changed, but every day I save lives of people I'll never see. I work for a company that reports break-ins and medical emergencies of older people living alone, people who can't get up when they fall down. If I wasn't in my cubicle answering calls, American houses would be vandalized and senior citizens would starve to death on the bedroom floor."
Peter looked amused, and Minnie pained. But Anjali was inspired. "The word is... revolution," Anjali said. "That's it. We're soldiers in a social revolution."
"A bloodless revolution, we hope," Usha said.
Mr. GG chortled. "Oh, there will be blood." No one laughed. "That's the title of an American movie," he explained.
Husseina ignored Girish Gujral's attempt to lighten the conversation. "My friend, my sister Anjali is quite correct. You don't have to be a villager to recognize there's a revolution going on."
Minnie rang her bell to disrupt the talk of revolution. But Husseina was not to be stopped. "History tells us you cannot have a revolution without winners and victims. Most of you here are winners."
Most of you? Not most of us? To Anjali, Husseina sounded as removed from the Bangalore scene as Mad Minnie was. What had she unearthed, with her intuitive correction of the intelligent, worldly CCI women? There was a long, awkward silence.
Finally Peter responded to Husseina. "This same conversation is being repeated millions of times tonight, all over India. We know we are