I’m Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter

I marvel at people who, at the drop of a hat, shoot off letters to all and sundry. For the most part, these are addressed to folks they do not know from Adam. Or for that matter, Abdul or Shiva. One has to be ever so mindful. People are so prickly and thin-skinned. ‘What do you mean, Adam? What Adam? Which Adam?’ See what I mean? These inveterate letter-writers, may their tribe increase, are not very fussy about who they are writing to. As long as they can spit on their hands and get two or three missives posted or emailed every day, their work is done. There are not too many of them around these days, I grant you, but they are there – those that lick and stick stamps and slide the envelope into a mail box, if you can find one. Chances are you will spot them sitting in some dark corner of their apartments, tapping away at their laptops. The rarities are those who write with an ink-filled fountain pen or even a ball-point. And please do not ask me why I should not consider the millions who send rude bullet points on X or Facebook. Anyone who sends messages where punctuations and capital letters count for nothing, count for nothing. At least, in my book.

I have come across people who will think nothing of writing letters to the Prime Minister, the leader of the opposition, the Governor of the Reserve Bank of India, members of the judiciary, the President of the BCCI, the President of one’s Resident Welfare Association, newspaper editors et al. If you suffer from a bad case of the letter-writing itch, you can spend a whole year writing to all sorts of people. And start all over again.

Before computers and the internet entered our lives, I used to enjoy writing letters. Never a day passed when I did not have to thoroughly soap my hands to get the ink stains off my fingers before sitting down to a meal. I ate with my hands. Unless I was breakfasting on toast and a fried egg or omelette, in which case cutlery was de rigueur. All that is in the distant past – the writing by hand, not the eating. So much so that even my signature has turned all spidery, leading to complaints from my bank manager. ‘We are holding back your cheque for clearing until confirmation is received on your signature.’

Reflecting on all this, I felt the urge to sit down and dash off letters to whoever took my fancy. Whether they read it or not was of little concern to me. It is the existential act of writing that consumed me. I write, therefore I am. With these noble thoughts in mind, I got down to it. Just to a few select individuals who would receive the benefit of my pearls of wisdom. In fact, I am sharing these priceless gems even before the recipients have seen them. Just to see which way the wind is blowing. With these few words….

Dear Prime Minister,

Your Home Minister has declared that the BJP has already secured a majority with voting having been completed in just 380 of the total 543 seats. That means 272 seats are already in the bag for the NDA. I salute you as you will ascend the throne for the third term running. With 163 seats still to be counted, you are well on your way to crossing that magical 400 seat mark, that is so dear to your heart. You have also gone on record as saying that the blueprint for action during the first 100 days of your government’s third tenure is ready and waiting to be unleashed on an unsuspecting public. You have also talked about accepting invitations from the world’s heads of state to visit their nations after the 4^th of June. Not to forget your presence at the next G 7 Summit in Brazil. And of special significance to small time investors like me, your prediction that the stock markets will go through the roof once you are crowned, brings great comfort.

Here’s hoping Sir, notwithstanding your certitude, that your chickens have already been hatched before you started counting them.

With best wishes.

Dear Leader of the INDI Alliance,

I am not quite sure who you are, but it could be anyone from the motley baker’s dozen that constitutes your alliance. Perhaps this missive should be circulated to all the distinguished leaders of each of your constituent parties. The common man is thrilled to bits that your analysts have declared victory, hands down, to the Alliance as D-Day draws near. In fact, as per your incisive studies, the ruling dispensation will be lucky if they cross even 150 to 200 seats, never mind 400. That will learn them, as the Americans love saying. Your strategy of not naming the likely Prime Minister, till you are sworn in, has served you well. You can be freely sworn at in your respective states till such time as you sweep the polls and declare, ‘Victory is Mine. Or Ours.’

I wish you well. And if, by any strange chance, things do not quite go your way, you can always ask for a recount in all the states (barring those states where you have won). Not to mention cribbing about the perfidious EVMs (barring ditto previous parenthetical sentence).

May Lady Luck be with you.

Dear Chief Minister, New Delhi,

Sorry to disturb you when you are taking a much-needed break from jail time. Just a few questions. Were you at home at the time? If so, did you hear any screaming and shouting or were you in a sound-proof room with your television set turned on full blast? Were there not a retinue of domestic staff like cooks, plumbers, electricians and sweepers in residence who came and reported the disturbance to you? If so, why did you not come rushing out of your sound-proof room to check what the ruckus was all about? And what was your security detail up to? What about your good wife? Was she also watching the 10^th replay of the PM’s interview on one of the many channels in that sound-proof room? Finally, for additional protection, do you also employ a beefy chap who is an expert on karate and kick-boxing? Questions, questions. Some answers would be most welcome.

Yours in anticipation.

Dear Swati Madam,

Your original description of the beating you took at your CM’s residence, in lieu of being offered a cup of tea, was shocking. A person of your stature! You should have been black and blue all over. However, the official medical report describes bruises on your ‘proximal left leg,’ (whatever that is) and on your right cheek. Bruised, but not battered. This is perplexing given your horrific description of the alleged mayhem. Perhaps other internal injuries will surface later. Not to speak of the mental wounds not visible to the naked eye. Whichever way you look at it, your distress was more than apparent on camera, as you limped off towards your vehicle after your medical test. To top it all, your party colleagues are now alleging that you might be a spy. Not quite a Mata Hari, but still. Hell’s bells!

Yours in deep sympathy.

Dear Mahendra Singh Dhoni,

You are the most admired and adored Mahi Bhai. We know you are of a retiring nature, never wishing to be in the limelight. So, when are you going to retire from your beloved CSK franchise? Your millions of hero-worshipping fans would rather you did not answer that question. Who knows, your muscle tear will heal in a few weeks and you can start training again for the 2025 season, and this time, please, go higher up in the batting order.

Our Thalaiva for ever.

Dear President, Resident Welfare Association,

You promised the water flowing out of our taps will not be greyish in a week’s time. You were right. The water is now a deep brown. When will the next colour change take place? The suspense is killing me. Do tell.

Yours ironically.

Dear Governor of the RBI,

One day you are raising interest. Next day you are reducing interest. From day to day, we do not know what you are up to. My local, nationalised bank points helplessly to you if I complain. And what have oil prices got to do with the price of fish? It is not good enough.

Yours in utter confusion.

Dear Judges of the Supreme Court,

Why was Carbolic Smoke Ball found guilty of reneging on their promise in the famous case of Carlill vs Carbolic Smoke Ball? My teacher, who took law class in college was never able to satisfactorily explain the establishment of contract law. Once your lordships have sorted out all the high-profile cases that you are presently seized of, kindly enlighten me. I need a good night’s sleep.

Respectfully and reverentially.

Postscript to my letter to Swati Madam. For now, apply Burnol to the affected part of that proximal left leg whatsit. If things don’t improve, go for an MRI. Might reveal something more sinister to strengthen your case. The cheek will take care of itself.

Get well soon.