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 smoke from the burning brick stove was causing tears in Rehkaās eyes. She was preparing the chapatis for dinner. Shyamlal (Rekhaās husband) was sitting on his old khatiya and was smoking chillum. As he waited for dinner, Sundar came to see him. Shyamlal: Why are you so late? I was looking for you all day. Sundar: I was …