If I remember correctly, it was during my school days that I first read an R. K. Narayan story titled The Missing Mail.
It was a late winter evening. It was already getting dark as the fog had started surrounding the lake. Dimple was weeping at the lakeside.
The thirteen-year-old Varun was in deep sleep when a sharp voice woke him up. “Varun! wake up….I said wake up…now”, his mother was shouting from the kitchen. Varun slowly opened his eyes and looked at the school bag kept on the shelf. His laziness faded as he impulsively sprung out of the bed and sat …