From "The Wind in My Wheels: Travel Tales from the Saddle" by Josie Dew

In India, conversations often seemed to go round in circles. In Chittaurgarh (City of Valour, said my map) the man at the guest house knocked on my door and said, "Sir. Good evening but your country of origin is what please?"
"You've already written it down five times on five different bits of paper," I said.
"What is the fine name of your father?"
"You've written that five times as well."
"In the morning," he said, "you are wishing for a breakfast mealing?"
"Yes, that would be very nice. You have porridge?" I inquired hopefully.
"Porridge-yes."
"How much your porridge?" I asked, surprised.
"Porridge three rupee only."
"Okay. One bowl porridge in the morning please."
"Porridge? No, no porridge."
"But you just said porridge-yes."
"No. Omelette, chapati."
"Do you have yoghurt-dahi?"
"Dahi. Yes."
"Okay, I'll have dahi then."
"You want omelette."
"No, just dahi."
"No problem omelette."
"No, just dahi."
"Just dahi?"
"Yes, just dahi."
In the morning I was presented with a bowl of porridge.