I cannot take names, you may call it professional ethics, but when I look back at some of the love letters I wrote then, I still choke with laugher. I recall a few; one was for a girl from St. Joseph’s Convent by a classmate of mine. After three days of momos and alu-chops and chini-pops, which I received as bribe to write that letter, I wrote a letter which included the line, “I have a disease and it’s only cure is you”. It was carefully copied down by the Romeo in his own handwriting and dispatched through a Postman, not before spraying the letter paper with Old Spice perfume stolen from his father’s bathroom cabinet- the postman was always a junior student who had to be pampered and protected. After several days of restlessness and sleeplessness came the reply. I still remember a fattish envelope being delivered to him. He opened it as quickly as he could and out came his original letter, torn to a hundred pieces, and it was accompanied by a chit which read “MADNESS IS A DISEASE CURED IN MENTAL ASYLUMS, NOT BY LOVE”…