IT'S NOT EASY, YOU KNOW

I felt chuffed about myself as I ran up the stairs, and sat in the waiting area. 

Across me sat a pretty 20 something, cross legged,  in a brazen yellow dress, with small purple lavender flowers sprayed on it,  that stopped just above her knee. I tried to camouflage my shortness of breath, by turning around, coughing gently and looking at the adverts on the opposite wall.

She pretended reading through a magazine, but her eyes flirted with the chap sat next to me. I suddenly felt a pang of jealousy, the green demon started to take its hold..

The chap, actually,  he must have been no more than 20 himself, was smart 5 feet 11, with ruffled dark hair that were neatly undone, a blue t shirt to match a grey black denim jeans. And to top it all, an engaging smile. Everything that I had wished for and everything that I lacked.

His fingers played with the phone as his eyes darted to and fro between the yellow dress and the phone screen. 

Next to the yellow dress, sat a man who looked as if his one foot was already In grave. Age had weathered his face with hollow cheeks,his eyes looked large behind his glasses, even his eyelashes had turned white. His white shirt and beige trousers had seen better days.

He seemed to be bent over and doing something . He would pause intermittently and then carry on. A little later I realised he was writing.

I edged slowly towards him, catching a whiff of the musk perfume that percolated from the yellow dress.

" What's another word for sad? " he suddenly asked to no one in particular.

" Melancholy? " suggested the heartbreaker..

He seemed to have accepted that and carried on  writing . After 20 minutes or so, he had finished. He looked happy, content and rested his pencil in his shirt pocket.

He smiled at the blue T shirt.

" Its not easy,  you know" he said pleasantly.

" Yeah, I did over 50 messages whilst you typed your one letter! You just have to practise and you will get upto speed." He had his one eye on the yellow dress as he said that.

The old man smiled. He reached for his pocket and pulled out a postcard sized letter. 

"These ten sentences I wrote came from my heart. They are to my friend whom I have not seen since college days, but we write every month. They are not forwarded messages or texts that I have received from elsewhere.

And THAT is not easy,  you know " he said as he trudged along to the counter.

I felt happy, as if I had scored a point. I wished that yellow dress would look at me now. 

"Come on Tiger !" bellowed my master. " its our turn now". He held me by the leash around my neck collar and we walked together.

I gave a gentle bark of appreciation towards the yellow dress. But, she carried on pouring into the magazine and refused to look at my sprightly paws or my tail as I led my blind master to the counter..