It says it is in Bhiwandi, Maharashtra, India. I do not know if Bhiwandi is a city or a town. I wonder, though, what it looks like.
I am zooming in. The satellite picture shows green and brown, but nothing is clear. So much for technology!
A notification beeps in my cellphone. The package has moved. Now, the painful wait begins.
Three days later, criss-crossing the country, changing hands, it rings as the doorbell.
The man is dark. He is wearing dark blue coveralls and a blue-and-red cap.
“Two hundred and seventy nine rupees, ma’am,” he says.
I hand him the money, counted to the exact rupee. I know these people well. They never return the one-rupee change.
The man hands me the package. I caress it like a long lost kin.
“Thank you for shopping with us, ma’am.” The man bares his malformed teeth. Ugh!
“Yeah, okay, okay!” I shut the door on his face. I can’t wait one more second to tear the cover and hold the treasure in my own hands.
No longer I care what they say about my craft. If no one else buys my book, I will!
I know what I should do. I’ll just order another hundred copies!
Copyright © 2015 Arpita Pramanick