Tortured by doubt and remorse, the postmaster sits in the glow of
a charcoal sigri that night, waiting for new of his daughter. As he
sits, he writes his dairy. As the postmaster, write a diary entry in
about 150 words outlining your feelings about the day’s events.
Tortured by doubt and remorse, the postmaster sits in the glow of a charcoal sigri that night, waiting for new of his daughter. As he sits, he writes his dairy. As the postmaster, write a diary entry in about 150 words outlining your feelings about the day’s events.
6th January, 1924
Today a most astonishing thing happened. I don’t think I
will be the same person again. My views about letters have changed.
They are not scraps of paper delivered to peons. Each of them
contains a warm, beating heart. Today I came to the office at three
in the morning. Ali’s letter was lying on my desk. At the
stroke of five, there was a knock at the door. It was Ali. He looked
strange and unearthly, with a kind of a glow around him. He
disappeared before I could give him the letter. Later, Lakshmi Das
told me that Ali had died three months ago. How could it be? Was it
his spirit that I saw? Or were my eyes and my mind playing tricks?
Poor man! He never got his letter. I can understand him now. I too
am anxiously waiting for a letter. My wait has just begun; he had
waited for years! Well, I went to his grave in the evening and put
the letter there, just as he had wished. Now I have to pass another
restless night waiting for my letter. When will it come? How is she?
I hope she is better.
6th January, 1924
Today a most astonishing thing happened. I don’t think I will be the same person again. My views about letters have changed. They are not scraps of paper delivered to peons. Each of them contains a warm, beating heart. Today I came to the office at three in the morning. Ali’s letter was lying on my desk. At the stroke of five, there was a knock at the door. It was Ali. He looked strange and unearthly, with a kind of a glow around him. He disappeared before I could give him the letter. Later, Lakshmi Das told me that Ali had died three months ago. How could it be? Was it his spirit that I saw? Or were my eyes and my mind playing tricks?
Poor man! He never got his letter. I can understand him now. I too am anxiously waiting for a letter. My wait has just begun; he had waited for years! Well, I went to his grave in the evening and put the letter there, just as he had wished. Now I have to pass another restless night waiting for my letter. When will it come? How is she? I hope she is better.
