Well, I was going to write about the exciting time I’ve had all fortnight, avoiding people and refusing invitations, but instead, tonight (yes, it IS night, as I write this) (I nearly always write at night) (if you stick around and read between all the brackets that will appear in this piece, you may discover why) (why I write at night, that is) (mind you, I am not promising anything) (I said may) I’m going to tell you about a visitor who rang the doorbell at 11.30 pm, about two hours ago.
I briefly considered not opening the door. But that would have been ridiculous because then I’d have died of curiosity. Here’s my advice: whenever you have a choice between dying by werewolf-at-the-door or by curiosity, choose the werewolf.
Why? Listen, if you’ve got to ask, you shouldn’t be reading this column anyway. Okay, so I opened the door. On the other side of it was a plump and smiling man, waving an envelope in the air. He was from the High Commission of A Neighbouring Country. He was delivering an item of mail from a friend belonging to That Country, for the other inmate of this house.
Is this weird or what? I mean, what sort of person delivers non-essential mail (believe me, it was non-essential) (it wasn’t even for us) (and we’d got a copy of it earlier in the week anyway) half an hour before midnight?
Sadly, I didn’t ask him, so I’ll never know. And now I can tell you why I work at night. It’s coz of a relative lack of interruptions. See? I didn’t even have to use brackets to reveal this important truth (another reason is that it brings out the werewolf in me) (if you want to avoid being devoured, you should stop reading this right n-) (uh-oh) (*burp*) (and goodnight).
This article originally appeared in Delhi City Limits, April 15, 2006