For whom the flower blooms
A birthday gift It was for you, my wife told me as I came down the hall to receive the call. Someone has come to meet you, the gateman rang up, she finished. I wondered aloud, at this time in the morning—who can it be! In a quick analysis I concluded, chances are very slim for anyone to visit me now. Anyhow I waited and the doorbell chimed in due time. I opened the door with just a speck of curiosity. The man, a bearer in ordinary clothes, stood straight, stiffly holding a costly flower bouquet, an expectant smile hanging on his face. I took the bouquet from him, looked at the two slips attached to it. One announced, 'Happy birthday'. The other was precise, 'Arunava Choudhury'. I am Chowdhury, but not Arunava and my birthday had long gone. Amused I turned round to meet the eye of my son reading his morning news. I asked him jokingly, should I keep it? This is a happy birthday gift. He laughed. What was the address you were given, I asked the man. He...