SOME KIND OF WEIRD HINDUSTANI FRUIT

Four years ago I finally got a cell-phone. I'm a bit late to the party. Up untill the spring of the pandemic I had a land line, despite everyone telling me to get with the programme, join the modern world, "you'll find it incredibly useful, it will change your life!"

Yeah, okay, it's turned me into an incredible racist. All these Indians with exactly the same damned spiel trying to weasel personal information out of me. That is the ONLY thing the instrument is useful for.

You'll be glad to know that I already knew what 'bhainchot', 'haramzad', and 'chureil' meant, having worked with Indians for several years. No, I haven't flung any of those terms at the poor call-center coolies sweltering in their crowded phone-scam barracks. But I cuss quite considerably when I hang up. The entire subcontinent can at this point go piss up a rope.
The Brits never should've taught those dingoes English.
Or cricket.

I don't even Facebook by phone.

So no banking data there.

Nothing to hack.

Tamare mata hamster thi, aur tamara pita ne elderberi-gandha ati thi! As rude little boys committing vandalism in the chowk might say.


"Tamare mata hamster thi, aur tamara pitane elderberi ka bad'bu hati thi"


Elderberries!



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