Yesterday, I took Bhopu to Kalighat. Initially, he refused to enter the temple. Then, he was unwilling to offer prayers. He greeted Durga Ma with, ‘Good morning, Madam.’ Such impertinence is becoming a trend among the boys at Hindu College. But your son is only fourteen.

Holi was the usual affair. The kids who were assigned to the task of collecting dry leaves and twigs for the bonfire, in their competitive overenthusiasm, vandalized the shrubs of their green leaves and caused quite a bit of smoke. I had an onion, two potatoes, and a piece of coconut. They were well done, black on the outside, sweet and smoky on the inside.

Champa is in full bloom. With a little breeze, the courtyard is fragrant throughout the day. People stop in the street. Many flowers are plucked. I don’t mind people picking a few but they will stop at nothing short of baring the whole tree.

I asked the postman to write this letter for me. He promised to send someone. When that someone came, he charged me one anna per page. This has never happened before, but he insisted that one anna was the standard rate. This trade is not even a week old and they have already established the standards to fool the public. Tomorrow they will charge for collection. His handwriting is very large too. I can read this letter without my glasses.

Continuing our conversation, do not forget that universal ties are built on virtues. Virtues transcend kinship and identity. Participatory individualism is a necessary condition for virtue. Individual selflessness should not be directed towards a collective interest under the false belief that a collective is not selfish.

Yours,

Dada

5

Church bells pealed in the distance. It was two in the afternoon. Natwarlal, Battisi and the officer, as if induced into a hypnotic trance, stepped away from the crowd under the gulmohar tree and resumed their journey towards the station with renewed vigour.

‘There, I see one,’ Natwarlal shouted, pointing to a sturdy, milk-white cow busily rubbing herself against a banyan tree. Her horns were painted red.

‘Do you see the owner?’ the officer asked.

‘That monkey is staring at us,’ Natwarlal said.

Next to the cow stood a monkey with a red collar. A thin rope tethered the red collar to a red brick under the tree. As soon as the monkey saw the men approaching the cow, he began pacing around the brick.

‘It must be related to the cow,’ Battisi said to Natwarlal.

‘Last week at this very spot I saw a similar monkey with a bear. They were performing. As soon as they finished the monkey began cleaning lice from the bear’s scalp,’ Natwarlal responded.

‘Monkeys are friendly.’