Originally posted here on February 21, 2009.
Sudha was washing her hands when the doorbell rang. It must have rung once or twice before, because this one sounded rather irate!
“I must put those ear drops again.”, She thought. She used the most popular brand of ear drops.
“I must get this watch fixed”, she decided, as she reached the door and glanced at the watch. The batteries were out, I am sure.
She opened the door. No thought regarding the door crossed her mind. It made no creaking sound and the lock worked perfectly. She always bought Duracell for the watch.
The postman stretched his hand out. It contained a letter. She wiped her hand on her pallu before accepting it. Silk sarees are not good as hand wipes, she decided.
The letter was from Madhu. He is in Rajasthan, she remembered.
Hello Sudha,
The pressure cooker needed her attention and she attended to it. Prakash wrote elegant letters. This one, however, was not written by him.
Over the last few weeks I have constantly thought about you. I am fine, but there is something I think you should know.
The door had been recently repaired by Murli.
There is going to be a conference for gynecologists here in Kota, and I think you should attend it.
I should go to the conference, she decided. Duracell batteries last much less these days, Kumar would have said. He was not there to say it at that moment. So there was a good chance he would never say it.
I know you are not a gynecologist.
Love,
Sooraj
Madhu signs his letters as Sooraj. Sudha was not a gynecologist.
