As usual, Sir PM was running late, and had no excuse except that his evening siesta was a long one, thanks to the divine fish patia prepared by the missus. Lady Flora had suggested a new venue as their meeting point—the Durbar Hall inside the Asiatic Society. She was given access by old friend Montstuart Elphinstone who was a resident. Worse, the flight of steps didn’t help his (un)healthy condition, and so by the time he reached, he was out of breath; his vision played games as the floor and ceiling went topsy-turvy. Somehow, due to his past familiarity with the venue, he stumbled on the wooden flooring as he approached his friend. Lady Flora could tell it was Pheroze. “Ah! There you are; you’re looking rather flushed? Please catch your breath,” she exclaimed. When Sir PM recovered, he noticed that she was seated at a desk, and was in the middle of writing in her letter pad; there was an inkpot of the finest India ink; several envelopes and postage stamps were placed on one side of the writing desk.

‘Received a letter!’

The scene was straight out of an Emily Brontë classic; of course, this was far from a typical English countryside setting; the hooting owls and overzealous bats that swooshed outside the towering windows were the only familiar characters. “You seem to be suitably engaged in an important task, my Lady…” he asked. She stopped writing, and closed her fountain pen. “Well, I was overjoyed to receive a letter from cousin Josephine who lives in Plymouth. She writes like a dream. The art of letter writing is a special gift and she stirred something in me. She was hopeful that the postal systems in both countries would deliver it in time for World Letter Writing Day. And…” Sir PM was so curious with this last piece of information that he forgot his usual courtesy, and interrupted his friend mid-way, “Are you saying that a day is actually dedicated to letter writing?! How very fascinating!” he let out a loud laugh enough to disturb a dozing pigeon who had taken refuge on a bookshelf nearby. Lady Flora was a tad irritated since Pheroze had disturbed her train of thought, “You shouldn’t interrupt when someone is speaking…anyway, as I was saying, cousin Jo wrote me this letter. Over the decades, I’ve forgotten to cherish this one-time hobby that was part of our routines in England.”