The training room was smaller than people remembered it.
Years later, everyone would talk about endless classrooms and giant induction halls. In reality, there were a few rows of desks, a whiteboard that never became completely clean and an air conditioner that worked according to its own mood.
Sudharma walked in carrying a marker and a stack of printouts.
The new batch was already waiting.
Some looked nervous.
Some looked excited.
A few had the expression of people who had not slept because they were afraid they would miss their first day.
He wrote his name on the board.
Sudharma
Then he turned around.
“Anyone who has come here because they think night shifts are glamorous can still leave.”
A few people laughed.
Nobody moved.
“Good. That saves HR some paperwork.”
The room relaxed.
Training was the part of the job he genuinely liked. Reports could wait. Escalation calls could spoil an entire week. But a new batch always arrived with the same questions.
How difficult is the process?
Will there be a test?
How long before we take live cases?
Can we change shifts?
Nobody asked them immediately.
They waited until tea break.
The young woman with the jasmine flowers was sitting in the first row.
When attendance was taken, Sudharma looked at the sheet.
“Jahnavi.”
She raised her hand.
That was all.
The day moved on.
During the break, the boys from the last bench gathered around him.
“Sir, strict training ah?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“How much work you create for me.”
The boys laughed.
“And one more thing,” he added. “No sir. Just Sudharma.”
Someone asked where he was from.
Someone else wanted to know whether transport was available after midnight.
One fellow had already calculated his first salary and announced that he would buy a bike.
Another said he would first repay his education loan.
The conversation wandered from cricket to mobile phones to which cafeteria served better coffee.
Jahnavi stood near the vending machine with two other girls from the batch.
She looked at the cup for a moment before taking a sip.
One of the girls said something.
The three of them laughed.
By the end of the week the batch had settled into its own routine.
Some always came late.
Some answered every question.
Some forgot to silence their phones.
Jahnavi always came on time.
She sat wherever there was space.
Some days it was the first bench.
Some days it was the last.
If Sudharma asked a question and she knew the answer, she answered.
If she did not, she simply said she did not know.
She never tried to guess.
Sanvi would sometimes walk into the training room during her break.
She would stand near the door.
“Five minutes.”
Sudharma would nod.
The batch would immediately become more interested in their notebooks.
After he came back, somebody would grin.
“Sir…”
“What?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Then keep quiet.”
The room would laugh.
One night, while explaining a process flow, Sudharma forgot a small step.
A voice from the second row corrected him.
He looked up.
It was Jahnavi.
He checked the document.
She was right.
“Good,” he said. “At least one person is awake.”
The class laughed.
She looked down at her notebook.
The session continued.
When the shift ended and the batch walked out together, the jasmine flowers were no longer in her hair.
After the trainees walked out, Sudharma stayed back to erase the whiteboard.
The jasmine flowers were still lying beside Jahnavi’s notebook.
By the time he put the duster down, one of the housekeeping staff had picked them up while arranging the chairs.
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