Sunday, December 14, 2008
My landlord is full of theories. Once he knocked at our door and before our reflexes can stimulate into action, he saved us the trouble and broked into our privacy. He took a cursory glance around our baggages and shelves full of books. And then came the most perplexing order, may be the result of a profound thought, but too deep to be grasped by us mortals. We were asked to keep a maximum of twelve books, rest have to be sent back or thrown out. What branch of science made him arrived at this particular number, we pondered hard but all in vain. Numerology, astrology, psychiatry, a run time exception thrown by his mind, or some weird logic, we never understood. The only reason he gave, was that he doesn’t knows, but we had to shed off the extra books. And he left.But as the ice melts down, the thought too vanished off his head within a few days. However, only we knew how we evaded meeting him all that time. Our patience was tested. We entered the room only after midnight and left before he stirred out of his slumber. Saturdays and Sundays we took refuge at some friends place. And then one good afternoon, we met him accidentally in the lift and were glad to find him out of his whims and into his wits again.