Dear Anonymous Writer,
Thank you for your letter, which I must add, was very, moving, for want of the right word. My secretary, who has seen more world than Christopher A. Columbus, was in shivers when she delivered the letter to my desk. She held your letter the way first time mothers hold their newborns. With so much affection that you think the mere touch will hurt the baby. That you will leave permanent spots, ugly and dark ones, wherever you hold the baby from. Such was the shock on her face that I had to leave my putting practice for the charity golfing event next week and attend to her. And trust me, no man worth his salt wants to be interrupted while he is practicing putting. Who else would know if better than someone who uses the 9 iron!
Coming to the matter at hand, you obviously are talking about last week’s double homicide at Civil Lines. I must say that you have woven a very tight story around the evidence recorded at the crime scene. Even the 9 iron. Not even the real murderer would have known the things that you have shared with us. Like the 9 iron. The editor in my head wants to give credence to your letter and declare you the actual murderer. But then the skeptic in me is not allowing me to. And, over the years, I have learnt to go along with the skeptic whenever in doubt. On one hand, your letter could mean the story of the year and on the other, a shot for a Joe Nobody at his 15 seconds of fame.
Talking of Joe Nobodies, there are quite a few like you. You might be surprised to know that just my office has received about a dozen letters relating to the case, eerily similar to yours. May be because of exclusives we ran on the murders or may be because we were the only paper to have dug so much background information on the victim and his lonely life. In fact, the profession I am in, we are bombarded with communication from readers day in and day out. Most of it is the anonymous kinds. In the regular course of events, almost all of it finds its way to the trash can or the paper shredder almost immediately. If not for my secretary and her fear of golf clubs, especially the one that you claim that you put to use last week, your letter would either be resting in my dustbin, along with remains of the sandwich that I had for lunch or would be shredded into thin long paper strips and would have other pieces of unsolicited messages, office memos, even death threats for company.
However I must commend you on the beautiful prose that you have written. You obviously are a man with excellent literary talents. On a different day, I would have offered you an opportunity to intern and may be, just may be, one day, allow you to work here with me in my team and the newspaper that I spend my life building. As a fan of written word, I really want to share your letter with the world but since I respect the institution, the responsibility, the power of media, I will not. But then, I did send a copy to the police station. Trust me, howsoever burdened they might be with all the crime in the city, even they like reading fiction once in a while.
Finally, I would want to offer a piece of advice, before I go back to my practice. In my profession, anonymous letters are not really accorded as much respect. We ascribe anonymity to the writer’s inability to stand scrutiny and often doubt the intentions. Next time you exercise your right to freedom of speech and want to fulfill your unfinished childhood businesses or fantasies or whatever you call them, try using your real name. People tend to take you and your thought slightly more seriously.
I sincerely hope that you use your talents elsewhere and do something constructive! Please do let me know should you think I could be of some help. And please wish me luck for the tournament.