“A white lie. That is what it would be. But I guess I have no other option”.The postman said to himself. He tried to walk up the stairs without making a sound. Somehow the old man heard him and opened the door.“Any letters from my son?”Every day, the old man had asked this question for the last year.Every time the answer had been the same, “No, if there was a letter, I will deliver it to you.”Then the old man would sigh, shake his head, and go back, closing the door behind him.The man’s son had died. No one had the heart to tell him. Some thought he knew, but did not want to accept it.“Any letters from my son?”The Post-man had come prepared, “Yes,” he said.“Please, can you read it?”The postman knew that the old man could not read.Pulling out a scrap of paper from his pocket, he started,… A White lie

Prakash wiped the sweat from his forehead. The auto-rickshaw was stifling, but he couldn’t afford to rest. His son was burning with fever, and Prakash needed to make enough money to see a doctor. “Sion station,” said the passenger as he climbed into the seat. Half an hour later, Prakash pulled up at the station. “Fifty rupees,” he said. The man handed over the money and hurried away, lost in the crowd. As Prakash reached for his water bottle, his eyes caught sight of a wallet on the back seat. It was thick, heavy with currency notes. His heart raced. He jumped out, scanning the bustling station for the man, but he was nowhere to be found. Prakash’s gaze returned to the wad of cash. He thought of his son, pale and weak at home. After a long pause, he made a decision and sped home. “Token fifteen,” called the… Money to see a doctor