Saturday, July 13, 2013


Amit’s a good neighbor. All was well between us till he started a bi-weekly, at times even tri-weekly, series of love letters. Right at the start, I thought of telling him that such devotion usually goes unreciprocated.
Since I work from home, he instructed the postman to give me his letters. That became a problem. In the third week, he confronted the postman and accused the postal system of negligence. A week later, he directed his suspicions towards me. He did not accuse me verbally but his frowning mouth, cold eyes and bunched-up eyebrows disguised little. But, the same arrangement continued. He probably thought that he would hurt me by discontinuing my services.
Last Thursday, he accepted defeat with a resigned sigh, ‘That’s my fiftieth and my last.’
Today, the postman gave me two letters. After delivery, he waited at my doorstep, shifting from one weary foot to the other. I gave him a tip. He took it as his rightful dues and left without a word.
When I gave Amit the letters he asked me gravely, ‘Name it… what do you want?’
‘Double chocolate ice-cream soda,’ I replied.
‘Done,’ he decreed.
Later, at the ice-cream parlor, the pharaoh became the love-sick artist once again, ‘What do I do? I sent forty nine love letters to her…’
‘Fifty,’ I corrected.
‘The fiftieth was to another girl,’ he informed.
‘Ah… have both replied?’ I guessed.
‘Ah… yes.’
I thought of telling him that only such devotion gets reciprocated.

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