Divine Intervention

Chapter 1

"You are dying because you have chosen to opt out of your subscription on earth and in this life.

To revisit past life, press 1.

To revisit lives before past one, press 2.

To top on extra years to your existing life, press 3.

To understand the various services we offer, please press 5 .

To retire, press 6*

*Please note once option 6 is selected it is binding and cannot be reversed under any circumstances. For more information, please refer chapter number 4 of the human handbook you can see at the side of your vision."

Another spam call? Was this Karnataka Bank? State Bank of India? I checked the true caller notification, to find it say, Unknown. So, it was a spam call then?

When I didn't say anything, there was a small beep, and a gruff male voice spoke.

"Hello, you've reached the automated service for new souls. Please press 1 to continue.

I kept quiet, trying to soothe my pounding headache.

"We sincerely hope you're dead. Please press 2 if you're alive. "

I rubbed my forehead, trying to understand individual words, because I couldn't make out full sentences for the life of me.

"Just a small reminder, that we sincerely hope you're dead. Or we will have problems."

This did not sound like the pizza guy. Unless Dominoes were transitioning to Murder as a Service. I rubbed my eyes, trying to make sense of the world outside. The waiting area of the metro station was bathed in bright, sterile, white light. It was blinding. 

"Pizza?" I desperately whispered into the phone as I continued walking to the elevator. The gin and rum mixture was doing its work as the world kept spinning around me. Trying to make the relatively short distance to the turnstiles seemed like a Herculean task.

"Not pizza, I've heard souls can really miss mortal food, but this is a tad bit...., woman press 1, and for fuck's sake, you're dead. You can't taste shit. Move on. Don't cry," he said. It was followed by a slight thwack, "Pooja, don't hit me. We're at work."

"I'm not dead," I declared, " Not yet. I want pizza." I swiped my card on the counter and walked outside the station, trying not to bump into anybody. The vehicles, horns and the buses moving past the bus stop outside fueled my already horrible headache.

I hailed an auto and tried to clearly convey my address.

"Sir, Basvanagudi police station,"

"150 hoga," he said spreading his fingers. It'll be 150.

"I'll give you 200," I said matching his gesture, "250 is too much,"

He took his time to answer back but eventually agreed with me, "Teek hai, 200." Okay, 200.

What a nice man he was. I nodded and got inside the seat.

"Are you drunk? He said 150. You just agreed to 50 rupees more." The man on the phone had still not cut the call and worst of all he seemed to be annoyed with me.

"Huh?" I asked, "You sound annoyed. Shouldn't I be annoyed? You're spam-calling me,"

"Listen to me, my shift gets over in 15 minutes. Can you please press 1?" he said. There was desperation in his voice. I squinted at the phone again, trying to make out a name, but everything looked blurrier than a 144p video, so I just put it back to my ears.