A short story by Soumitra Mukherjee (April 1997, Jai Loyola)

Source: The Loyolean, Chp 6, Vol II, 2006  

Two Englishmen met at a pub. One was absolutely the picture of health with rosy cheeks, chubby and rotund figure and a beaming countenance. On the other hand, the other Englishmen’s condition was pitiable. He was as thin as a rake, with pale, sunken and hollow cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. The two fell into conversation and learnt that both had recently returned from India and had served in the same firm. The healthy one inquired of the other, “how come you are in such a condition even after coming from India?” “Oh! The work in India was killing!” answered the other with a wry face. “But tell me” he continued, “How has your health seen no decline?” “Well, the work in India was easy to avoid. I knew that in such a large concern like ours, there has to be a Mr. Smith somewhere. The rest was simple; I put all the incoming files in the outgoing tray and addressed them to Mr. Smith. You should find out ways of preserving your god given gifts. Heh-heh-heh! The other’s expression and colours changed! From bemused to furious ashen gray to deep mottled purple! With murder in his voice and hate in his eyes he answered thru clenched teeth- “God help you! I was that Mr. Smith!”