VKN

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Come back to daddy


You have to be ridiculously rude to hate telemarketers. Although many perceive them as pestering creeps, I just love them. It is in the attitude. Unlike your close friends, these people do take the time to call you regularly, so why not reciprocate by sharing some quality time with them. I receive calls everyday from telemarketers of long distance phone companies. They call me from Bangalore, from Hybrabad, Delhi, Pune, Bombay, Chennai and Thoppumpadi. I specially love the calls from Thoppumpadi, because they speak in Malayalam, my mother tongue and thus have a soothing homely touch. The Thoppumpadi based international phone company has sweet young girls as telemarketers with sweet heavenly voice and sweet charming attitude. They have sweet bubbly personality to match their sweet playful disposition. By the end of a call you would need a heavy dose of industrial strength cow Insulin. Most callers have lovely names as well. Like Moly, Sherly, Sheela, Beena, Sofia, Chritstina Martinez, Steffie Graph and my favorite girl Elizabeth Kuruvilla.


Elizabeth is the best. Depending on her mood and the period of the month she would address me as “Sukumaran Sir”, “Sukumaran Chettan”, “Byju Uncle”, “Byju Chetta” or simply “Chettaaah” with a groaning “aah” that fades out into a whispery silence. My greatest excitement is when Elizabeth Kuruvilla wakes me up at sharp 6 AM on Saturday mornings.
“Hello Sukumaran Chettan undo”
“Yes, who is this?”
“Sir ithu Elizabeth Kuruvilla aaNu. You can call me Liz”
“Elizebeth.who ?”
“shhhhh…just call me Liz”
She would imitate the dialog in one of those technicolor Mohalal movies.
“Liz, wait let me go to the other room and get comfortable”
Thus begins a very pleasant, flirtatious, fun filled Saturday morning.

But I am a very sad man now. I am slowly sinking into a state of chronic depression. Elizabeth Kuruvilla has not called me in almost 3 days. She called me as usual at 6 AM sharp three days ago. The melody of the phone bell woke me up. I grabbed the phone before it rang again and woke my wife up. I ran to my rendezvous point, my bathroom, with a chest-full of pounding heart. Now that we have become intimate I wanted to tease her a bit. So I pretend to be a dumb guy with a defective gene, to give her the giggles. I planned to say nothing but “yeah” to what ever she says.

“Hello Sukumaran Sir”
“Yeah” – I said in a retarded voice like Dustin Hoffman in the famous movie Rain Man.
“Sir ithu Elizabeth Kuruvilla aaNu” She did the regular drill.
“Yeah”
Then she went on to give me her five minute elevator pitch, and ended with the same usual question that tickles me every time.
“So what phone service do you use now sir”
Sleepishly I said “Yeah”
“Sir, sir yethu phone cevice aaNu use cheiyyunnathu”
“Yeah”
“Sir can you hear me?”
I chose not to answer her. Perceiving a hearing problem she began to repeat her five minute elevator pitch. While the lady was eloquently articulating her well rehearsed speech hoping to brainwash me, I left my hand-set aside and washed my face, then took a bio break, and brushed my teeth, and carefully flossed my wisdom teeth before I picked up Liz Claiborne again. She finished her speech and asked.

“So what phone service do you use now sir”
“Yeah”
said Dustin Hoffman
“Sir, njaan paRayunnathu sir-nu keLkkaavo ?
“Yeah”
“Sir, can you hear me?
“Yeah”
“So what phone service do you use now sir”
“Yeah”
“Sir Reliance aaNo, AT&T aaNo upayogikkunnathu?”
“Yeah”
“Sir, can you hear me?
“Yeah”
“Sir yeah yeah ennu parayunnathu enikku keLkkamallo”
“Yeah”
“Sir”

I thought I am having a bad breath. So I blew and smelled my breath and almost turned blue. I badly needed to gargle. I opened the Listerine and sprayed a mouth full.

“Sir” I could hear her desperation in the handset.
Damn, my mouth was burning like I consumed concentrated sulfuric acid.

“Sir” she was at a breaking point. I sensed her shivering voice.
“Sir”
“Yeah” Dustin Hoffman showed no signs of letting up.
“Sir, are you kidding?”
“Yeah”
I mumbled , wincing and twitching with discomfort while extensive bacterial eradication was taking place in my mouth.

“Sukumaran Sir, enne kali aakuka aaNo? Sir Are you making fun of me?”
“Yeah” -
I said before breaking into a hysterical fit of laughter. Like the author says in the famous novel, I laughed like hell, and laughed like hell and laughed like hell and I rolled and laughed like hell again.
When I came back to my senses, the phone was dead. There was nothing but a deafening silence; an intense eerie loneliness. Poor Elizabeth was gone.

It is three days, since daddy ate or drank or talked or laughed. It is three days since I slept. I am having weird hallucinations. I am very irritable. I am having mood swings and panic attacks like pregnant wimmen. I have heart palpitation, no appetite, severe dehydration, and attention deficit disorder. I fear I have bipolar manic depression too. Every minute I wait for your call, I feel like ages. Since this morning I have started having post menstrual syndromes also.

So my dear Elizabeth Kuruvila, if you see this message, please call me. Come back to daddy.

13 Comments:

Blogger FlipFlop said...

I can feel you shifting gears towards the real you...keep going!

9:05 PM  
Blogger Injikadan Mathai said...

dude..first time here..hmm ur creative i must say...it was fun readin though

9:46 PM  
Blogger Anoop said...

Sathyam. Come back to Papa

9:55 PM  
Blogger kashmu said...

"wincing and twitching with discomfort while extensive bacterial eradication was taking place in my mouth."

Very slick & 'vkn'nish.

Elizabeth chechiyute kilimozhiyil korithatichu ninnum kitannum kuthimarijum jeevicha aneka kOti bacteriakaleyum avarute bharyamaareyum mulakuti maaraatha bacteriyakkunjumgaleyum Listerine chamberil mukki konna parama dushtaa, bacteria daivamgalute shaapam ninne vitaathe pinthutarum...

Sukumaaran sirnte ee nerve disorder (njarambu rogamennu malayalam) sheriyaakaan vendi elizabethippol etappalli punyaalanu ara dozen mezhuthiriyemgilum kathichirikkumennurapp~.

10:06 PM  
Anonymous Soni said...

Bycha, you are impossible!

11:31 PM  
Blogger Vinod/Kakka said...

Great writing man.
I had heard of your writing before you started blogging, and the hype was justified, coming from Ikru :-)

9:58 AM  
Anonymous Murali said...

Exceptional piece of satire Byju. Pramila and I laughed hysterically.

10:29 AM  
Anonymous sajeev said...

Way too cool! And very well written.

Liz Hurley, where are you?

11:14 AM  
Blogger ann said...

kewl byju san ,, juz tat i saw them all a bit too late .. cudnt control ma laughter reading this .. siju was giving me looks ;0)..wondering what happened at this hour !!??

12:44 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hallo I absolutely adore your site. You have beautiful graphics I have ever seen.
»

5:29 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Nice colors. Keep up the good work. thnx!
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12:32 PM  
Anonymous dhanya said...

Byju.....Thanx for inviting to read
I just had a glance n fortunately saw Elizebeth Kuruvilla....hmmmmmm........hats off to Reeja for being so understandinggggg.......iniyum kure undu vayikaan....Samayam kittumbol vayichu commment pass cheyunnathayirikkum

7:04 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Good Day
I enjoyed your article very much specially it is about a very dear and old friend Elizabeth Kuruvilla. Please if you can send me her email OR any other; I would be very grateful. Thank You
Dr. Qasim El Dwairi
eldwairi@just.edu.jo

3:23 PM  

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