It's Time to Take That Call!

(Published in The Zeitgeist, The New Indian Express, dated the 17th of October, 2009)

“Oh tumi he! Kiman dinor murot kotha patisu tumar logot. Kene asa? Ghorot bhal ne?”

The speaker was one of those almost unbelievably genial, typical nice guys everyone wishes the best for. The spoken-to was clearly a close friend, judging by the look of delight on his face. After pushing my linguistic sensitivities to their full potential, I deduced he had exclaimed that it had been ages since he had heard from the speaker, and was keen to be assured of the well-being of the kith and kin of the same.

“Ki???” his face took on a shocked, traumatised look that nearly stopped me from shoving pasta into my mouth, “Bupai moi eengrazi buji nepao… Tumar bikrir jojona tu bhal…Bhal lagil tumar logot kotha pati…Ebar axomiya xiki ley bhal dore kotha patim diya.”

And then the smile was back. It was the first time I had ever seen him look triumphant and – could it be?? – evil. “These insurance companies, man!” he said, by way of explanation, “I speak to them in Assamese these days, man. I told them I don’t know English, but their scheme is wonderful, and it was really nice talking, and maybe we can talk more once they learn Assamese.”

Telemarketers…sigh…well, e-mails replaced letters, mobiles replaced landlines, palmtops replaced those ancient computers that groaned into life and they replaced door-to-door salespeople. The door-to-door salespeople would, at least, give up at some point of the day thanks to the angry afternoon sun and irate siesta-takers. But the breed of telemarketers, sitting in their air-conditioned offices, manage to sound bright and happy irrespective of what time of day or night it is.

Inspired by Mr. Nice-Genial-Guy, I have recently taken to speaking in Tamil when I get calls that begin, “namaste ji. Nandni Kishen-ji se baat karna chahta hoon.”

“Aanh sollunga,” I answer, “illenga, adhu en peyar illai. Nandini Krishnan.”

“Ji?”

I use my most obliging tone, and keep the conversation going, while my interlocutor gets bewildered, panicky and finally, hostile. “Madam, you can i-speak Inglish?” one of them barked to me.

It was the first time a telemarketer had displayed symptoms of human behaviour.

“Yes, I can, thank you, were you selling a Spoken English course?” I responded sweetly, and then hung up.

I had underestimated the constitution of these creatures, though. Encouraged by the dozen English words he had heard, the hostile telemarketer went on to make fourteen attempts at calling me (albeit from the same number) through the day.

Speaking Spanish worked slightly better, though. My “¡hola!¿quién?...Lo siento, pero no hablo ingles.¿Habla español?” (hello, who is this? I’m sorry, but I don’t speak English. Can you speak Spanish?) was met by a long silence, and then a telemarketer telling a colleague in an awestruck tone that I was speaking French. But I went on to receive five more calls from curious telemarketers trying to figure out which language I was speaking in.

It was while contemplating further evasive action that I came across that rare genius that makes you want to take a moment’s break from the rigours of life and pay obeisance in full.

I overheard a friend say, “yes, I am very interested in a loan…see, I am unemployed at the moment…Uh, I travel by bus…Well, I am leaving for the UK to try and find a job soon. I need a loan of three lakhs for my expenses here. I will pay it back once I come back from the UK…yes…yes…ok, I’ll wait for your call. But please don’t let me down, I’m depending on you for the loan…I’ll call you back at this number by five…hello? Hello?”

(With many thanks to a close Assamese friend who chose to remain anonymous, and a one-time schoolmate who gets too much publicity for his own good anyway.)