DO YOU SMELL THE HOT GHEE?

Any conversation that starts with "My name is Monica, I'm calling from the Senior Resource Center about the benefit card we recently mailed you" is, of course, a scam. I have received hundreds of these calls, though not all of them identified as 'Monica', in the last year. But no benefit card. You would think a legitimate Monica would have figured out so many people out there with exactly the same name as myself would mean some of those benefit claims, if any were made, might indicate a problem.

Why does every shifty Indian call-centre from here to Madagascar use exactly the same bait tape? Haven't you sleazebags figured out that if one scam message doesn't work, repeating it an infinite number of times won't either? Beifkoof! Bunch of stupid haramzadas.

Speaking to a con-man from Delhi is exactly at the bottom of my list.
Which goes down infinitissimally far, by the way.
Absolute rock bottom.


I strongly believe that every movie made in Bollywood, in addition to several silly song and dance numbers with thousands of extras in the pouring rain, and an advertisement for Pooja brand basmati rice or coconut oil hair tonic, should have a call centre scene. Perhaps with slick polished criminals who have gorgeous hair and are eating plates of rice. While singing and dancing. In the rain on a rooftop at night while elephants with painted foreheads and jewels charge. Mera pyara aparadhik udyam, aah, mera pyara aparadika udyam!

I'm sorry, Monica, tell Jeevan to go piss up a rope.

VIEW FROM UPPER TANK BUNDER WHILE SIPPING CHAI

During this morning's early stroll with a pipe I mulled over recent dreams. Classes at Hertog Jan College, bicyclists passing in front of the house (one lovely petite girl whose name I still remember), early sunlight on the market square, faintly the smells from cigar factories. And what coffee used to smell like at that time of day, which was one of the reasons I enjoyed living half a block from the Trieste many years ago.

Sleep had been fractured. It usually is nowadays. Got up in the wee hours to read about idiocy on the internet. I considered filling a pipe and going out to sit on the stairs in the airwell, but I didn't feel like getting dressed yet at that hour, it being rather beastly cold.
Even now it isn't warm. March had some hot days, in April winter came back.

For some reason I feel like having naans and something meaty cooked with toasted cumin, elaichi, and lots of lal mirch. Next week, probably.



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