`Bill please'

The doorbell rang. I rushed to open it. Bills for the month were paid. So who could it be? Milk, flowers, maid's salary, electricity, cable TV, internet...what could be left?

It was the newspaper vendor, sheepishly giving me a...bill. Relief. My relief was ironic that moment. For I had not paid up for four months. My non-payment had nothing to do with recession.

For some strange reason, the vendor stopped producing bills. Considering this agent has a monopoly on newspaper supply for residents of my colony of about 170 households, and some neighbourhood buildings, his customer base was good.

It's still a mystery - the sudden vanishing of bills. First they moved from a printed bill to a paper-bit with rubber-stamp. The next time, it was a few figures shabbily jotted down on another bit. I asked them each time they came by to collect money. Why this? No answer. I refused to pay. The boy the vendor sent would wear a perplexed look. But have no choice if I did not budge. Last month, I stood my ground again.

``Ask my boss why he's not giving bill,'' the young lad snapped, irritated. I was sure there were others who refused to pay too.

``Give me his number.''

``I don't have it.''

``No bill and no phone number too! Wonderful. Tell him I'll pay all the money up if he brings the bill.''

He left in a huff. My husband was bemused.

``Why not pay him? It's a newspaper bill after all!''

I was adamant. A faint fear did creep in for sometime. Will those guys land at my doorstep and create a scene?

The sight of that blue bill this time brought a secret smile inside me. I payed up instantly.

``You could have done this before too! Bringing the new bill-book,'' I told the vendor.

He gave a guilty smile. And left.