While I like Desis, I hate their phone calls. "Hi, this is Christine from technical support, how are you?" "Don't need technical support, goodbye." Christine, you sound like a nice person when you're not trying to steal people's personal information. That modulation, delicious.
It is still early in the day, and I really do not want to have a yen for mirch ka salan or hot flaky kulcha to sop it up, because I haven't even had breakfast yet, and both of those items are NOT available, unless I head down to Sunnyvale. Christine, I don't have a car (can't park anywhere near my apartment, so there's no point in owning one anyway).
Mirch ka salan is delicious, and would make a great breakfast.
But by train, on public transit, it would be dinner.
Trust me, you do NOT want a hungry grumpy Dutch American on the train. That isn't what "technical support" is all about. It must lead, inevitably, to mayhem and disturbances of the peace. If you could arrange a delivery of mirch ka salan, jeera bacha maach, paya nahari, or even Hyderabadi biriani, WITH nice hot flaky kulchas, I might overlook your urgently probing request for access to my computer and your attempt to wipe out my life savings so that I will starve freezing and naked in the cold of a Northern Hemispheric winter. I don't bank or pay bills via the internet, so you're s.o.l. on that score, but Jeezus Christ those kulchas!
Extra butter, please.
Strangely, I associate many Indian foods with crows and magpies -- kauve aur maigiya -- flying over a barren wasteland. Probably from those years in the computer industry several miles south of here, when badhiya bhaarati raisterants where a lifeline in a desert filled with programmer kibble gauranteed to give you I.T. body and indigestion.
It was a time of krähen und elstern über einer kahler einöde.
Freezing and naked in the bitter sleets of winter.
But look! There's a desi restaurant!
Hello, Christine, lunch?
The hunger.
It's raining and cold outside, Christine, you don't want me naked.
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