“Hi Sheetal. My number is 98*******0. I wish to surrender this number.”

“Thank you for the number Sir. How can I help you?”

“I want to surrender this number, this connection.”

“Why Sir?”

“This is a Delhi number. I moved to Mumbai a few years back but kept this number alive. I don’t really need it and there is no point incurring roaming charges on it.”

“So you don’t want this number?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Sir I can give you an option. We can transfer this number to Mumbai.”

“Meaning?”

“We can give you another number in Mumbai with the last five digits same as this one.”

“I already have a Mumbai number with the last 5 digits same as this. I want to surrender this number.”

“You are sure Sir?”

“Yes I am.”

“Sir I can give you a second option. We can put this number in suspension for 3 months. So you will be charged zero rental. As long as you don’t use this number, you will be charged nothing. But if you use this number in this period, you will be charged.”

“Madam, I do NOT want this number. Can you please take in the request to surrender it?

“You are sure Sir?”

“Yes I am.”

“Sir I will give you a third option. Why don’t you gift this number to a relative? Your wife?”

“Madam, we all already have mobile connections here in Mumbai. I don’t need this number.  Can you PLEASE log in my request?”

“So you are convinced that you want to surrender this connection Sir?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Okay Sir. I can see you have no outstanding amount to be paid. Please note this service request number.”

“Tell me.”

“******.”

“Thanks. By when will this process complete?”

“Sir you will need to give me an alternate contact number.”

“96*******0.”

“Thank you for the number Sir. You will get a call from us soon on your alternate contact number.”

“Great. But what for?”

“They will ask you these same questions I asked, once again.”

“Why??”

“You will have to convince them just like you convinced me Sir.”

“Meaning??”

“You have convinced me. You will now have to convince them Sir. Once you do that, they will surely disconnect your number.”

“What???”

“Thank you for calling Airtel. You are speaking to Sheetal.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This transcript is 99.99% accurate, barring a word or two that I may have missed. Needless to say, I am still awaiting the call back from Airtel Customer Care.

P.S. The name Sheetal is purely representative.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(19.01.11) UPDATE: The call-back happened today. Yes, the lady who called began going through the same motions again. I had to, tad rudely, cut her short. I’ve been assured the number will be disconnected by the 21st.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(20.01.11) UPDATE (1): Spoken too soon. Yet another lady called, asked the same questions, again. Now assures the disconnection will happen in 7 working days. Sigh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(20.01.11) UPDATE (2): And YET another lady called, asked the same questions, again. Assures the disconnection will happen in 2 working days. Grrr.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(31.01.11) I destroyed the SIM Card. Checked after 4 days. Number disconnected. Case closed. Phew.

But since a few weeks I’ve been posting a series for afaqs.com – a popular advertising and marketing site.

If you are interested in a lighthearted take on advertising, here are the links to the posts:

Liftman’s Log 1.01

Liftman’s Log 1.02

Liftman’s Log 1.03

Liftman’s Log 1.04

Liftman’s Log 1.05

Liftman’s Log 1.06

Liftman’s Log 1.07

Liftman’s Log 1.08

Liftman’s Log 1.09

The series will continue till I get bored.

Or you do.

Dear Brother Kalmadi,

Greetings.

Kallu, our village gambler, says a special ‘yo’.

Ever since the glorious wikipedia told us that your middle name is also Kallu, he has been wearing a special friendship band in your honour.

Wait, he says ‘yo’ again

Brother, we are aware of the trouble surrounding you.

Brother Twitter has told us.

So have brother IBNLive and sister NDTV.

Everyone seems to be doubting you.

But they do not see what we see.

You have replaced ancient Business Sense with new-age Business Benevolence.

Is it true that you bought an umbrella for more than 6000 rupees?

Benevolence 2.0!

Brother, we are with you. Seriously.

Myself, Talli, Jags (Jaggu) and of course Kallu.

Last night, just before placing the last order in our country liquor bar, we formally formed the Committee of Organized Comrades of Kalmadi.

C.O.C.K. will be spearheaded by Jaggu, our village cybercafe owner and internet expert.

C.O.C.K. has a single-minded agenda.

Every time someone accuses you of building leaky stadiums, hanky-panky-deals, etc, simply send us an e-mail with that person’s address.

We will send Bajrangi, our village wrestler to sort him out.

Trust us, we guarantee the results.

And Brother, as a confidence building measure, we, on behalf of C.O.C.K., invite you to purchase the following items at these special rates from us:

• Buffalo Milk – 800 rupees/litre (water mixing 70 rupees/litre extra)

• Country Liquor – 250 rupees/pouch

• Bansi’s old cooler (1 year old, good condition) – 18000 rupees.

• Broomstick – 600 rupees a piece.

All items will be delivered on advance payment with proper stamped receipt.

Okay?

So much for now Brother.

Bajrangi awaits your signal.

Meanwhile, ignore all those aspersions and keep that eye on the games.

Like Talli said just before he broke the bottle on Dhania’s head last night:

Only someone as uncommon as you can make the Commonwealth Games a success.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

P.S. Since the bank account of C.O.C.K. has still not been opened, we are accepting only cash payments for now

And the designation does not come easy.

You must, compulsorily, undergo life-altering experiences to earn it.

At times, experiences that alter the impression left by a previous life-altering experience.

For instance, once, after being crushed between two portly businessmen all through a Mumbai-Delhi flight, I left strict instructions with my office to ALWAYS telecheck me into a window seat.

I love window seats. Always have.

Sigh.

The next few weeks were spent flying happily ever after.

Till it happened.

I was to fly on my usual Mumbai-Delhi sector.

I was sleep starved – whenever I have to take the first flight out, I barely sleep in the worry that I won’t wake up in time.

My office made no mistakes.

It was me in the window seat.

A middle-aged gentleman in the aisle seat.

Hunky and dory were together.

Till SHE walked in.

A conservative estimate would peg her between 100 to 115 kilos.

Saree-clad, very-well-fed Punjabi lady, returning home to Delhi, probably.

She ‘settled’ in.

What do I tell you now?

That I spent the rest of the flight with my face squashed against the window like a first time flier?

No it wasn’t voluntary.

When you have a mammoth elbow intruding across three-fourths of your seat space, there is nowhere else to go.

I had to refuse breakfast.

There was NO way I could have handled a tray in that kind of space.

It’s bad enough when you have to share your seat with a giant elbow.

It’s worse when the elbow belongs to a giant who decides to sleep after breakfast.

And sinks a little into you with every passing breath.

Now consider the fact that the elbow belongs to a woman.

What will you scream?

Rape?

I would have.

Had I managed to somehow extricate myself from under that elbow and reached upwards to buzz the air-hostess, I seriously would have.

We disembarked in Delhi.

She, refreshed.

Me, crushed. Literally.

Frequent flying is no fun, my friend.

After Vietnam and Advertising, it ranks third in my books.

That morning I learnt that even a window seat can’t save you from the scourge of an intrusive elbow.

My humble advice?

If you can, fly business.

If you can’t, then beg the ground-staff to tell you who or what has checked into your middle seat.

If you can do neither, quietly take the train.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

In case you have a similar moving experience, do write in.

Gullible’s Travels will be glad to reproduce the same in the larger interest of travelers.