The Love-Letter

It was another four days to Valentines Day and I was thinking up ways to impress the ol' gal. That's when I had this idea of writing a love-letter. I had long since wanted to write one but never really went about the business. So it was with a new found vigour that I approached the writing of said letter.


I thought “I am doing this thing anyway. Lemme do it properly". So I bought myself a glitter-ink ball-pen(red). Believe me I have never used one before and I have always felt that it was silly to use one. I still stand by that . But what the hell. You atleast have to make it sparkle, if not have a scented letter. Since the only perfume I have is one I wouldn’t care to put on myself let alone on the letter, I decided to go with the ‘sparkle- pen’.


I thought of making the envelope colourful. But then after lot of thinking about how I was gonna smuggle a colourful envelope, in these days of email, past my highly suspicious friends around valentines day, I dropped the plan. Instead I had to decide between a white envelope and the usual, brown, 'official', boring envelope. The white envelope looked smart and I thought of how she would find it fresh and close her eyes and smell it like those gals in Nescafe ads. But that’s when the plan went awry. You see I have seen how letters are carried about in trains and sorting offices. And as I thought of how dirty my white envelope was going to get and crumpled, I had second thoughts.The scene repeated itself(the letter delivery one), and this time I saw a dirty, smudged envelope, white in places. And how she accepted the letter at arm’s length and sniffed at it as if trying to guess where it had been.


That’s how the brown, 'official-looking', 'boring', sturdy envelope won the race over colourful and smarter rivals. The shopkeeper in the stationary must have wondered why this guy was taking one envelope, looking at it and then putting it back . Then taking the other holding it against the sunlight, then putting it back. And then with a heavy sigh taking the brown envelope and asking him how much it was. “For an envelope of one rupee of which I get 50 paise profit, and this idiot checks as if he were buying the wife jewellery. What a jack-ass. Hmmpf" -is probably what the shopkeeper thought when I handed over the one rupee.


So I take this brown envelope and glitter-pen and I look around at the other shops . My mind was swimming. Trying to think if I had forgotten anything. Nothing came to it however. What with this being my first love letter and all; the concept of love itself is enough to make the mind go swimming and a love letter was over-kill. Asking the mind to work when it had gone on a holiday is a futile task. So it was that I took my prized possessions and cycled my way to the hostel, all the while thinking about what I was going to write.


In case you are thinking "what about the paper?" Ha! way ahead of you. I had already thought about the paper. I had seen my cousins get letters from abroad written in ruled sheets where there were flowers on the border. Right when the idea of a love letter had registered itself, the mind had already selected the 'flowery paper'. But looking around the stationery I couldn’t spy any. And I felt it would be wise not to ask for coloured paper with 'flowers on the border' when I had already bought a glitter-pen and a brown envelope with a friend standing mere feet away looking for a pen. So I thought I should let the flowery paper pass for this time. Surely there must be some level on which to improve on the next time shouldn’t there? I had heard from a ‘learned friend’ that girls always look for improvement. And I thought it would be highly wise to leave room for the same. So it was glitter-pen,brown envelope and ahh...the plain white A4 size paper I had bought in a stack earlier-to write assignments which the profs here give by the truckloads. Those were my aids to inform the love-of-my-heart of my intentions...


I sat down to write. "My dear.." oh no! I hadn't given her any cute name so far and it seemed stupid to call her by her formal name. I could come back to that later; so I skipped to the 'main part'. The trick was in describing your lady-love and comparing her to the wind,the stars,the clouds, and the like. This much I knew from my English poetry in primary classes and Bollywood numbers. I decided to have a go with the stars in the sky first. "Your eyes are like the stars in the sky.." "What?!" It felt weird saying that 'cos it sounded-that's right-dumb. Try as I might I could never picture her with eyes other than what she had-normal black ones and no, not a wee bit of starlight. Done with stars I moved on to clouds, wind, and rain with no success. I just couldn't fathom as to how I could relate her to any of these. She didn't move like the wind, more like a normal person, even I could beat her at her pace.And woe be to me if I compared her hair to the clouds. That would be harakiri for sure. If anything respect the lady's hair Iam told. It comes next only to the "Am I fat?" query in the list of things-to-be-vary-of for men who want to keep a steady girl-friend. And me not wanting to test those waters decided to skip the cloud-comparison. It was then that I thought of man's best friend-internet. So I Googled 'funny love-letters' and recieved lots of inspiring rib-ticklers. But as I was not a 'software professional' proposing to his girl-friend, or the 'sailor' proposing to his gal and feeling that most of it was already well known, felt let down by the internet.


It was then, out of desperation perhaps, that I was hit by a spot of imagination, not unlike but never quite in the same category as Kekule when he fell asleep thinking about Benzene. But get me going it did. Before long I had compared my gal to the forces of nature without any discredit to her being and also to the forces in question. I finished the letter and noted that the glitter-pen literally drank ink. Writing with it also felt akin to writing with a quill(it scratches the paper) and I enjoyed that sensation. Someday I have to write with a quill I should say. With that in mind I licked my envelope shut. I then cycled down to the post-office and enquired to the guy-"How much for stamps for normal post to Noida?"(yeah I wanted to send it the normal, slow way). The guy at the counter tired at having had to answer similar questions everyday of his working existence looks up at me. He proceeds to scratch his brow,adjust his spectacles and rotate his pen. And yet manages to stare blankly at me. Perhaps he has not heard me. I repeat my question. The look is replaced with a look of irritation. Not very different from the one I got from a prof during my interview to get into IIT. I retried the same strategy I had tried at my interview-shut up and wait for him to talk. The creases in his forehead deepened to produce a scowl on his face(ditto with the interview). So keen was I in hearing what he had to say that I noticed the entire process of scowl-forming. Since it was the second time in my life that I was witness to the above phenomenon I am already becoming an expert in the details of the process. After the scowl was perfected he asks "usmein kya dikkath he?paanch rupaye ka stamp daldho aur bahar dibbe mein dal dho"(What's the problem in that?stick a five rupee stamp and put it in the box outside). I evaded his condescending look and did as was told.


Only there were two post-boxes there. Both similar in all respects. Now why would they want to create this confusion I don't understand. And one of them was freshly painted. I said a quiet prayer and dropped my letter into the one just outside the doorway-the 'older one'. I had to summon all my will to drop it as there was so much of hesitation regarding the 'right post-box'. It was thus with a battle of sorts raging on in my brain that my involuntary section commanded my hand to drop it. I have always had this weird feeling while dropping letters into the letter-box as though I had no control over them again and would never know what happened to them again. So it was that I trusted the tale of my love with the imaginary vagaries in the Indian Postal Service.


Its been six days with a national holiday and a Sunday included and the letter hasn't resurfaced yet. So much for my wanting to send it the traditional 'normal' way rather than speed-post. But hey she will know it for sure, maybe tomorrow or the day after that. And no the pleasure is not in the waiting.