THE CALL CENTRE AT BHAYANAKA-GUJU BASTI

For some reason the milk tea was cold and turbid. It took me a while to realize that. All very frustrating. Then I realized it was a semi-wakened dream, and there had been no recalcitrant chaiwallah at Badbuhwallanagar trainstation with filthy crockery and weak tea. And the main reason I was frustrated was probably because I had been answering my cell-phone in Cantonese, which the stupid Indian spam-callers had not understood.

Wai! Nei hai pin ko? Nei yiu mat kwai ye? Nei dim gaai ko ngo? Sei pok kai yan do yan! Daap cho sin, so lo! Jik hak gwaa hou!

[喂？你係邊個？你要乜鬼嘢？你點解𠹭我？死仆街印度人！搭錯綫，傻佬！即刻掛好！]


Because, of course, stupid Indians are almost all pushy spam-callers trying to weasel your personal data, pass words, and bank account information out of you when blind-calling early in the morning. It's what they do when they're let go from a tech support centre in Bombay (or Badbuhwallanagar). Brilliant Indians are at universities here in America working on their third or fourth masters degrees in subjects most Gaura-log are too dumb to understand.
Stupid Indians universally vote for Modi.
Smart ones for Biden.

Hello, who are you, what the devil do you want, why are you calling me? Damned Indian, wrong number, fool, hang up now!

The frightful she-camel at the restaurant where I worked part-time in the evening years ago believed that white people did not know how to make tea. So when she came in, she'd throw out the masala chai I had made and boil a fresh cauldron, which we then served all evening. The Sikhs in the kitchen made sure to set aside enough to last them before her arrival. So it wasn't a total waste. I'm convinced that K-sahib kept her on because she irritated the spit out of everybody.

Sometimes, when the telephone rings, I remember her.

She made sure we knew she was Christian.

A truly frightful woman.



Lunch today will be very enjoyable.
No Indians. No Midwesterners.
And no damned cell-phone.




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