Explore this blog by clicking on the labels listed along the right-hand sidebar. There are lots of interesting stuff which you won't find on the home page
Seriously curious about me? Click on ' What sort of person am I?'

Monday, May 04, 2015

Out of this world

An adult ex-student - no one important - once told me she gets 4,000 emails a day. When I expressed incredulity, she backed down a bit and said 'Well, every two or three days, including ads and other spam'. 

I should have thought only the public websites of national leaders and pop superstars got mail on that scale, but I am only an obscure provincial tutor, and I might be quite out of touch. Will you folks let me know if you are among the famous few whom thousands contact daily?

P.S., May 07: Hello, no one yet?   !


Aritra Roy said...

Including every useless and unnecessary mails I receive at most 20 mails daily. 4000 is a exaggeration.

Anurupa Ganguli said...

I came across this batchmate who put up a post in facebook saying, she swore she'd marry one of the fifty men who propose to her each day if she had to study one more day. Bewildered and with a good amount of mock, I asked, if she was exaggerating to which she blindly refused. I further asked her, her secret and she replies maybe because she is single and interesting. I hope you can figure out what followed next and within the next five minutes, I was "unfriended".
Thanks heavens I got rid of her 'nyaka' posts without having to do anything at all.
Do I need to mention? She is a Carmelite.

Suvro Chatterjee said...

Oh, nothing special about Carmelites, Anurupa: they are everywhere these days. Pupu's told me the same about the Modernites she had to tolerate these last two years. As for the creature I mentioned in the post, she was a Michaelite, and believe it or not, she is now 30 years old. Remember my saying in class that I have met lots of children of sixty?

In fact, I am sure that girls being nyaka is considered charming and cool by most males (pathetic, isn't it?) What happens after marriage, when the same thing begins to grate on the nerves night and day, or when the woman morphs into an acid-tongued virago, is another matter altogether.