Post Office

I found the post office standing exactly at the same spot, where I had left it last year. Our relationship has now reduced to this annual rendezvous to post my tax form. Those young girls at my CA’s office implore me every year to link my tax account with ADHAAR to avoid this business of sending physical forms, but I keep procrastinating and eventually forget all about it until it is time for another round of doing taxes. 

Halfway through to post office, I realised that I had no change, which has also become an annual tradition. The image of the postal clerk’s expression after my offering hundred rupee note for a five-rupee stamp arose in my mind. It wasn’t very pleasant. So I began thinking of things which I could buy at the shops next to the post office without attracting disapproval of my wife. One needs exact change at the post office. You can’t say ‘kindly keep the change’ to them. It is not taken very kindly. I have tried, so I know. 

For reasons perhaps known only to the Post Master General, the shutter of the post office was pulled down to three fourth length with a gap not more than three feet for people to slither their way inside. This was a new development. Surprised at my own flexibility I found myself inside the post office, which seemed to be working at full steam with modest queue at each counter leaving me rather baffled about the pulled down shutter which now appeared disturbingly reminiscent of bars operating surreptitiously after legal hours. 

The clerk looked at the envelope and demanded five rupees. Relieved, I offered the five-rupee coin which I had gotten after buying a few pencils and rubbers from the stationary shop (safest things buy in such cases especially if you have school going children). He tapped at the envelope and asked me to write a return address and then pointed me to a protruding wooden plank on which laid a tumbled plastic cup, carved out of a soda bottle, holding a gooey substance threatening to spill itself all over the surface despite its minuscule quantity. I should have bought a glue stick instead of pencils and rubbers, I thought to myself. I looked at that alien looking viscous substance, which I dearly hoped I would not remember while eating my meals, and avoiding further excruciating elaboration on the subject, let me say, I managed to stick the stamp on the envelope. 

Inexplicably, two large black bicycles, generally used by milkmen were kept right in front of the writing board in the middle of a functioning post office. Nobody seemed to object to their presence there and I did not want to be a stickler either. However, though it was easy to reach the glue by stretching across those rather imposing contraptions, one couldn’t achieve writing of a return address using the same method. I looked around for an alternative table, but the establishment offered none. I scribbled the address placing the envelope on my palm. 

A swanky looking sanitiser dispensing machine with a sensor now hung on the wall near the door. A new addition to the premises, thanks to Covid-19. I spread my hands under it and the machine came to life with determination. It shuddered, made spirited beeping sounds and then hissed and spluttered with all its might, but eventually proved incapable of dispensing much except a couple of feeble droplets, woefully inadequate to achieve the objective of sanitisation. But it had tried hard and I appreciated the effort feeling rather sad for this neophyte into the Indian Postal System.

Finally, with another miracle of my bodily pliability, I slithered out into the sunshine. The famed red postal box stood sturdily outside the post office, declaring daily clearance time with its mouth wide open. Out of habit, I checked the address once again before sliding the envelope inside its gaping mouth. 

I stepped back and looked at that building decorated with frayed posters which nobody read, where people slithered in and slithered out and which perplexingly contained two large bicycles around which the epistolary business was being conducted. Despite this rather quaint existence it stood detached, uninterested yet reassuringly enduring. 

Having considered the experience in its entirety I reached an important conclusion- let those efficient girls from CA's office say what they want, I am coming back to this place next year.