Where Is My Stapler?

I’m lucky these days having a 5 year X visa. The Indian government is clamping down on foreigners with long term tourist visas, especially since the recent bombing at the German Bakery. However I still have to register at the Foreigners Registration Office every year. This year the FRO is going computer so it has been taking days to present my documents with the help of my Parsi Indian pal, Feroza, who knows how to expedite things.

This story takes place in my flat where I receive a telephone call from a policeman who is to officially present himself to make sure I am who I said I am to the FRO. He and his friend are very friendly, he speaks English quite well but the friend has difficulty with spelling any English word. While he is there, he is quite taken by a stapler that is sitting on my desk, and begins to fiddle around with it, testing to see if it works and then pulling out the staples from scrap paper. All this while he asks the questions and spells the answers I give to his assistant.

After they leave, I realize he has taken my stapler. A policeman! Shock! Shock! Am I petty to want it back? It’s a favorite of mine, specially designed and in color! I wonder what I can do.

The following night, I am out to a concert celebrating the Chopin bicentennial and my friends encourage me to call him, and having his phone number, I do; right then and there.

Me: Hello, are you a policeman? [I ask whoever answers the phone]

Him: Yes.

Me: You were at my house in Koregoan Park and you took my stapler.

Him: Er, er, oh yes. I will bring it back Monday morning.

And sure enough, this morning the doorbell rings and there he is, abjectly handing me the stapler, and touching my feet before he leaves. Very sweet - justice has been done!