Kishore Singh: Yours, mistakenly

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Journalists, as a breed, aren't at their best in the morning, so even though I'm an early riser, I'm less than awake at that point around eight when the phone first starts ringing.

"I've been following your career with some interest," said an unfamiliar voice when I picked up the phone this morning. "Yes?" I answered warily, squeezing my eyes open "" it had to be a job offer, preferably with a salary in American dollars.

"Your repertoire," continued the voice, "is getting stale." Stale?" I echoed. "Yes," the voice came through the receiver, "you should consider writing about other friends, more family." "All right," I said somewhat less enthusiastically, not sure whether I liked reader feedback.

"And avoid mistakes," the voice reprimanded. "Mistakes," I found myself repeating my interrogator. "Uh-huh," confirmed the reader, "thought I'd just tell you," and hung up.

It was hardly a propitious start to the day, but I was determined to look at it positively. "No more mistakes," I promised myself, sitting down before the computer, "greater due diligence when proofing copy and" "" opening my e-mail "" "writing back to readers who write in with suggestions or requests."

The first letter required all my concentration, but only because the reader had obviously written in a hurry, making a mess of the Queen's English. "I was a person with a great looks & style always been appreciated for my smartness. But recently I started loosing my hairs, this has deteriorated my whole personality. I have started loosing my confidence. Now, the peoples talks to me about my hair loss only. What shall I do?" "What about joining up for an English language course?" I wrote back in sympathy.

But there were more letters in the mailbox jostling for attention. "I have not availed LTC so it's bound to lapse," read the next, asking me to shed light on the train from Delhi to Dwarka, and the temperature, accommodation and the like at the destination "so that LTC does not go waste".

I pointed out that he had presumably mistaken me for a travel agent, but that, in fact, the fourth estate hardly knew anything, least of all about travel arrangements, and wished him the best.

The next letter flummoxed me. The writer, ranting at length about people who were "cunning, clever, crooked, crafty and vindictive", in particular targeting an old lady who was "ghoulish looking", wanted to know: "What do you think I should do under the circumstances?" Out of my depth on issues of crafty biddies, I decided to move on to other readers whose requirements could be more simply met.

A doctor I'd interviewed hoped to invite me for a "psoriasis convention". I declined. Another wrote to say his car "stands without garage", but I wonder why he insisted on informing that that "I can't wash daily". I could only guess he must smell awful, so wrinkling my nose I moved to the next missive.

A lady with "a wavsite" claimed to have "a photo stock agance". I offered her my congratulations. An irate gentleman insisted on knowing why his "car a/c is not giving as much cooling that I expected to lixury car, whats problem there, please sugest me." Did no one write English any more, or solve their own problems themselves any longer?

The last letter was, fortunately, congratulatory. The writer thought a magazine I edited was "superb with lots of info for n about all". He wanted to subscribe, but I was considerably miffed at the way he chose to sign off: "Hope I really missed some old issues," he wrote.

Readers, I've now decided, there's no point writing for them, or giving them too much importance.