Call Cutta in a Box

Overview

Like most people, I can't say I ever speak to call centre workers for more time than it takes me to get out of talking to them. Remove the sales pitch from the scenario however and the thought of participating in a genre-bending “interactive phone play” seemed strangely appealing somehow.

I can confidently say this was nothing like any other show I've ever experienced. For starters, everyone who attends the work dreamed up by the German collective Rimini Protokoll is given an individual appointment time. On my arrival at The Edge I was given directions by a staff member to my 'secret' location on Upper Queen Street. Once at the office block I was greeted by a man who knew my name, ‘odd,’ I thought to myself. He then accompanied me up to the fifth floor. Once there the receptionist also greeted me as Karina, ‘even odder’, I thought. After a short wait, I was shown to a nearby office and told to enter and close the door.

I wouldn't say I was nervous, but it was definitely a bit surreal to be sitting in a sparse little office on my own. Moments later, the phone began ringing. I answered and yes unsurprisingly, the woman on the other end asked if I was Karina Abadia. She explained her name was Srijani but that I should call her Sri and indicated that her business card was sitting on the desk. Sri took me through the various 'scenes' of our conversation / the performance and right away I knew I was going to like her. She offered to make me a cup of tea. Slightly bemused but keen to play along, I accepted and the next thing I knew, the kettle on the side table began to boil. She told me to sit down on the sofa, hang my jacket on the door hook, take off my shoes and make myself at home.

We started with personal questions; she guessed my age to within a few years and told me she was 22. Then she wanted to know my occupation, medical history and whether I was in a relationship. When I told her I wasn't her response was: "so you're single; ready to mingle", which I thought was hilarious. Apparently it's the thing you say to unattached people in India.

Abstract questions followed. She asked me to close my eyes and listen to her sing in Hindi and afterwards tell her what images came to mind. When she asked if I would sing her a song in response, I declined. She asked again so I declined again. As a form of punishment she wanted to hear about the most difficult experience I've ever been through. I'm not usually that candid with strangers but somehow I didn't need to be persuaded. Right after telling her my story, she started clapping in support, she said, of my honesty. At the same time I could hear office workers around her join in. For a split second, I was mortified, imagining she’d put me on speaker phone. However, she was quick to tell me it was standard office practice to clap along because it usually meant the jubilant staff member had just made a sale.

She also told me things about her life like how her job involves providing support services to people in Australia and demonstrated the Australian accent she has to put on. She said it makes her feel bad because she feels dishonest. But if people suspect she’s foreign, they won’t talk to her. In the final scene we briefly got to see each other on skype. We showed one another the badly-drawn pictures we’d made of each other during our chat and she explained how to prepare the only Indian dish she can cook. Then the stereo sitting in the corner came to life with the sounds of Indian music. Sri asked me to dance,  how could I say no?

Suddenly it was over and I must admit I felt a little sad. Earlier that evening I’d wondered what we’d talk about over the almost hour long session but by the end, I would have happily talked to her for longer. And the best part of it all was knowing that everyone’s experience of the event would be unique.