The Delhi Chapter : Page 6

The next big step was to muster up enough courage to write to this ridiculously creative man.

Honestly, I still haven’t a clue what made me think he could / would help me with my CV.

But I guess it was his writing. That brilliant freehand style.
Because his pieces just made him seem like this really interesting guy.

Now emotional.
Now funny.
Now serious.
Now whacky.

You know, like one of those problem-solvers you could safely shout out to for help?

Call up and feel sorted that your job will be done.

That type.

Plus he was Bong.

AND from Cal.

So THAT could help my case, I thought.

[ You see, we Bengalis are a stupid, altruistic bunch.

That goes out to salvage the world’s problems, and help any x, y, zee stranger on the line.

Bloody bizarre, I know.

But true.

Weren’t half the do-gooders of the world Bengali?

Think. ]

So yes, anyway.
I said a quick prayer and started writing:

‘Dear Sir’ / ‘Hello Bodhisatwa’ / ’Hi Mr. Dasgupta’

Arrgggh..

Scribble, scratch, crumble. 

Scribble, scratch, crumble.

Almost nothing seemed to fit quite right. 

And I’ve almost never, EVER floundered to write someone a letter.  

As much as I did that day…