Thursday, January 12, 2023


Sad to say, this blogger is not ready for the modern world. I suppose I should be overjoyed at the convenience of my cell-phone -- three years ago I still had a land line -- and how compact and multifaceted it is. As well as that people are calling me, quite anxious to hear my voice. They demand to know whether I have Medicare parts A and B, and have I given serious thoughts to covering my burial expenses.

Of course had I not been looking for dental insurance a while back they wouldn't be calling.

[Dave from your local air duct service company hasn't called in ages.]

Their concern is touching. When I tell them 'no', and that I have no intention of dying, their disappointment is palpable. There is great anguish in Rawalpindi and Ahmedabad.
Existential heartache! It is sad, so very buggery sad.
It probably ruins the taste of their tiffin.
The dahi gosht becomes insipid.
The paratha is soggy.


Many people on the subcontinent have no other function in life than to call me up at an ungodly hour to discuss matters of great import.
It's probably part of their religion. Which has no other effect than to leave me with an appetite for something spicy-soupy before I've even had my coffee. I want hot chai with plenty adrak now, and something that has simmered gently over low heat for several hours, saagwalla nahari, plus fresh and flaky piyaz ka kulcha.


Why is there no desi bhojanalaya open nearby?
And why do you wish to torment me so?

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