Blacksheep

The Rajputs were one of the most popular families in town and the elder son, Shashank was justifiably sought after. They had ancestral properties and tea gardens to look after, which meant both he and his younger brother Sunny never had the pressure of 'what-to-become-in-life'. Sunny was still in boarding school, while Shashank had returned after a holiday in Vietnam, clubbing the needs of new age pesticides for tealeaves and woodwork. Even though he might appear flamboyant, in his red shirt and jeans out from his blue Skoda, he was the shy man of the family. If there was one thing he really was in love with, it was scuba diving. He loved the sea. At the club, he only had the sober amount of Scotch. He did not enjoy a game of cards, nor hunting for brides. Most people assumed that he owed this reticence to being closeted. He did not. He was just too detached from most things. He knew a wife would be on his way too, soon. Life was reasonably uncomplicated, till one day.

Sunny was back for his vacation and while playing one of the games on his tab one morning at breakfast, Shashank came across previous pages. So his brother wanted to join the Equestrian Federation, and had a girlfriend, and watched Game of Thrones, and wait, what was that? He read a line into the website. It was a blog called Letter to Little Things. How was that possible? And below that one to Microwave Oven. He gave a cursory glance and having liked it, took it out to the lawn to relax and read. By afternoon he was an addict. He refused to return the tab to Sunny, cancelled his morning garden visit, and delayed his lunch.

At lunch, a disheveled Shashank was hankering Sunny to know of the origin of the blog. He found out a bit about the author from social networking sites and went back to the letters. Something came alive in him with her words, as if they fed his soul. He slipped into his shorts and spent the day beginning from the beginning. He felt hypnotized and compelled to move on to the next. Having stopped at sixty of her posts, he took to the mail and sat to compose one to her:

"Miss Sengupta,

I, Shashank Rajput, have never known emotions to have an abundance like they do in your command. I was not aware that the same language could connect two different brothers to a common source. You have been on my mind since Little Things and it feels I know Chhuti, and Chinky and Letters and Stories like I know insecticides and pesticides and fertilizers and types of tea.

Needless to say, I know you may find this extremely impulsive, but I would like to invite you to our Jonaki TE, for a weekend and watch you write. Your tickets will be confirmed as soon as you give me your dates. Ma'am, this is an already ardent fan who would love to know you better and wishes that you agree to his humble proposal.

PS: I assure you of a comfortable stay while at Jonaki.

Sincerely,

Shashank Rajput."

Till the next evening's reading of ninety three posts, Shashank did not receive a reply. The one hundred and forty seventh post too did not beget a reply the next afternoon. His parents were concerned with his sudden coiling in his room. He had not shaved in the last three days and was glued to the tab. Sunny got Shashank's ipad in exchange for silence.

In small towns, the smallest of irregularity calls for a scandal of the greatest proportion. Legend is an unpublished author made the eligible Rajput a blacksheep.

What made him turn his back to his daily duties, however, was a regular correspondence with her, in letters.