No, Just The Same Poem by Ramanujam Parthasarathy

I knocked gently on the door
‘Come in, ' he said.
I pushed the door open,
and a sharp, cold air from the air-conditioner
hit me like a stone wall.
Shivering and blinking, I greeted him.
He looked me straight in the eyes
and smiled, or so it seemed.

‘Sir, I am…'
‘I know, take a seat.'
It was short and clipped and cold,
and reminded me of Captain von Trapp
ordering attention with a whistle.
And I stood awestruck.
Bending his attention to the file again,
sitting bold upright
with a military bearing.
he seemed an atypical civil authority.

Would he take the envelope
or throw it at me?
But if I didn't give it,
would he sign the orders?
He looked up, and our eyes met,
and I felt weak-kneed
as I tried to stand to attention.
With a shiver racking my body,
I placed the bulging envelope on the table.

He placidly took out the notes
and counted them
with a deft flick of his fingers,
then put them back and said,
‘Five thousand more.'
It was short and clipped and steely.
Now, I looked him straight in the eyes
and smiled.
With a steady hand,
I took out ten more notes
and put them
not on the table
but in his hand.