Letters About India

In the comments of Mr. Smith's last post, the subject of NaBloPoMo came up. NaBloPoMo stands for National Blog Posting Month. Basically every month crazy people like me sign up to write a blog post everyday. That is it. You can post almost anything, as long as you post at least once a day, everyday, for the month. I signed up for April. Since the theme for April is letters, I decided to write one letter a day. Some of them are about life in India. Just for fun I think I will post the ones that deal with India here as well. If you want to read the others, follow the link on the side bar. The following letter was my post for April 7th.

Dear Crazy Crazy Landlord,

I've had a lot of landlords over the last seventeen years, but you take the cake. I mean it. I've had professional landlords, inexperienced landlords, efficient landlords, unorganized landlords, pushover landlords, no nonsense landlords, generous landlords, even a mean, greedy, dishonest, SOB of a landlord (may he rest in peace); but you, Mr. Crazy Crazy Landlord, are my first lunatic.

Let's review shall we?

• We've come home to find you watching TV in the frontroom.
• You've shown up unannounced time and time again.
• You've entered our house without so much as a knock on the door.
• You've given several guided tours of our house.
• You almost included my bathing daughter in one of your guided tours.
• You sent a group of 20-something year old men wearing cannabis T-shirts to tour the house.
• You demanded we give you our oven.
• You demanded we give you your microwave.
• You demanded we pay additional rent for your microwave when I refused to give it to you.
• You demanded (and took) the company's stove top.
• You come at odd hours to check the outside lights.
• You grill our guards at length every time you visit, in a language you know we don't speak.

Sadly, all of these seem merely quirky when compared to this evening's events. Tonight you came, once again, to check on those all important outside lights. I imagine you were quit relieved to see them burning brightly...illuminating our security guard...in our gated courtyard...in our gated (and guarded) community. But one wonders, Mr. Crazy Crazy Landlord, with all of these lights and gates and guards, why did you feel it necessary to bring a heavy with a shoulder holster?

Get help,

Mrs. Smith