A blood-red envelope lands on my desk along with the day’s mail. THE blood-red envelope. The same type of envelope, made of rough handmade paper. Just like it was years ago. You might remember me writing about it last year.
I was not expecting the letter. The envelope was made of blood-red recycled paper, and my name was scrawled in capitals with a black sketch-pen. No stamp, no postmark. Somebody had just walked up and placed the envelope there.
The ITDC Ashok Hotel, all chrome and very bureaucratic, with its trademark fading red carpets and mangy odour in its rooms, was falling off at its seams when I reached there..
The IHM Chronicles Series
On My Nightstand
Tweets and Chirps !
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