The Only Thing Better Than Josh Lyman’s Secret Plan To Fight Inflation Is Getting Unexpected Snail Mail

It was just another cloudy, rainy day in Kodaikanal. The wind, feeling compelled to demonstrate that it was no one’s anthropomorphic bitch, had ironically fallen prey to pathetic fallacy by throwing an epic tantrum. The electricity was out – the wind had calculatedly blown down a tree, and with it, several important electricity lines. It had also succeeded in collapsing one of the compound walls. No one was in the mood to socialize – it’s difficult to carry a conversation when there are drops of cold water dripping down your back. I would have ignored the storm if my laptop had been charged – one simply does not get sick of watching Josh Lyman. But it wasn’t, so I was reduced to annoying Poof, who finally got so sick of me, that she’d shoot off to the opposite end of the house when she saw me approaching.

And then, the mail arrived. Like a acne-faced adolescent being asked to the prom, I was suddenly absurdly happy. I’d gotten two pieces of  unexpected snail mail, which made me feel all warm and bubbly inside.

The postcard from a friend from school was a bolt from the blue. I haven’t talked/interacted with him on social media for quite a while. I don’t even know where he got my address from! The picture on the postcard is that of an installation in London, of an artificially manufactured cloud suspended in the middle of the room. However, my friend says, “I haven’t smelt too many clouds but this smelt nothing like I imagine a cloud would.”


The other piece of snail mail was from a friend in the States – you know, the one I sent a Tamil film postcard to? In turn, he sent me these lovely little Polaroid photos of his cat, couch, street and the wall with my postcard on it. If you’ve been following my blog, you already know that I adore the Instax Mini, so too by association, these little bits of whenever-you-want-it-wallet-sized-love.


Happiness is snail mail, you guys.

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