The OTP Chronicles: A Tale of Books, Blunders, and Brotherhood

We are a family of bibliophiles. Everyone who knows us well knows this. But, despite this well-established fact, life still finds ways to surprise us.

Like everyone else, our Amazon carts are perpetually overflowing—some items get the "Save for Later" treatment, while others successfully make it past the many levels of internal scrutiny (read: my husband's approval system). Amongst the usual suspects—bread flour, soccer cards, and oddly specific cleaning supplies—there are always a few books sneaking their way into the final order.

Last month, I discovered that my favorite film reviewer, Anupama Chopra, had launched her own film magazine—The Hollywood Reporter. Naturally, I did what any self-respecting book hoarder would do: I added it to my Amazon cart. Then, by some cosmic alignment (or my husband momentarily lowering his guard), the order got approved! I was elated—waiting for its arrival like a schoolgirl anticipating her first love letter.

Finally, the big day arrived. Well, not as soon as my heart desired, but patience is a virtue (so I’ve been told). The magazine came in a silvery-white Amazon package, carried by our trusty delivery guy, Muktikanta—the MVP of our society’s Amazon supply chain.

As per protocol, my husband stepped up to provide the OTP. Simple enough, right? Wrong.

For years, he has heroically juggled critical office presentations with my desperate, all-caps OTP requests—whether it was for an organic floor cleaner or a limited-edition fountain pen. But today? Nada. No OTP. He blinked at his phone. Muktikanta refreshed his system. Both men stared at each other, perplexed, as if they had just encountered an unsolvable math problem.

After a thorough Sherlockian investigation, the mystery unraveled—a typo in the registered phone number! The OTP had been sent into the digital void, most likely received by a very confused (or highly amused) stranger.

Now, with the issue identified, spirits were high again. My mind was already wandering—imagining myself flipping through the silky, glossy pages filled with black-and-white celebrity portraits. But fate had other plans.

Jubilant, Muktikanta dialed the mistyped number in a last-ditch effort to retrieve the OTP. Instead of salvation, we were greeted by the robotic voice of doom:

"The number you have dialed is out of service due to insufficient balance."

At this point, both men were visibly sweating with no plan ahead to get this resolved. Muktikanta was by now crestfallen and said meekly "Book hi hai na?"  translating to "there is a book inside, right?"

When my husband nodded, he said "Madam, aap padh lo in one night, then we will figure this out" translating to "Madam, please finish reading in one night if possible till we figure this out".

In that moment, my heart melted. I was really touched by Muktikanta's sensitivity. He has been delivering for two years at our home now and has delivered books by a ton. He knew what books meant to this household and how preciously we have been collecting them like pearls from oysters.

To make him feel better I said "Koi nahin bhaia, hum phir se order kar lenge, number correct dekh ke :)"  translating to "We will re order it, making sure this time the number is correct". There was a small smile on his face but still apologetic he said "Madam try, main kal aake leta hu agar OTP tab bhi nahin aya"  translating to "Madam, try to read, I will collect it tomorrow and return it, if no OTP comes still".

We think we live in a cocoon. And yet, our lives just mingle and shimmer in all these other colors of love, care and concern.