He took a flowery letterhead, and wrote a letter saying `Dear Sheetal, I love you more than you love me. Your plan of running away is just fabulous. I can hardly wait. Remember, 10 a.m., the day after tomorrow, at the Railway station. Love, Ramesh.' Then he put it in the sports section of the newspaper where his friend Arvind just couldn't miss it.

"Who is Ramesh?" thundered my brother. There was a big fight with accusations and recriminations. After three full days of non-stop war, ultimately he confessed proudly how he had fooled everyone. Amidst biter acrimony from my family I praised his sense of humour. He patted my head and said, "Look this little fourteen year old girl has more sense of humour than all of you combined.

Then just yesterday he sent my father a telegram, `Major Vikram missing. Feared dead. Await further information.' My other brother, Vikram is out fighting a war on the border. Dad just clutched his chest and collapsed. He is at present in the ICU fighting for his life.

Again, I was the only one to appreciate his sense of humour. Today I have called him home to congratulate him on his last humourous escapade. Over coffee and cakes, I am going to tell him how I consider him my guru. I am also going to try my hand at humour, amateurishly, of course. There goes the bell. He has arrived. I hope the bitter taste of coffee disguises the taste of rat poison!