A good day to start again....

In this world, there are more good people than not so good people. I experienced this today as I set out on a warm sunny day in Amsterdam.There was the landlord and the makelaar who ditched me badly at the last minute, totally destroying my ideas of moving into me dream apartment. And then there was a stranger who offered me water and brought me tissue paper to wipe off my sweat. There were friends who cheered me up with the thought that there were better apartments waiting for me, and then gave me detailed instructions on how to find another makelaar.There were saleswomen who believed (and made me believe) that I looked really sexy in the dress they were trying to sell to me. And there was this lebanese girl who whole-heartedly agreed when I said that I was not a great fan of the sun, by saying that she too preferred winter to the bright and sunny 30 degrees today!

Thats when I decided to re start my blog when I got back home....
Living in Amsterdam continues to offer me so many opportuntities to experience human behavior in all its colours, shapes and sizes, and I would be a fool if I did not use this medium to reflect on it!
So here goes......

Following on.... my tryst with our great Indian postal system

I could not complete the task the following day.

Thereafter it took me another week before I could gather the courage to try once again....

This time over I decided to minimise the risk of standing in line for an hour only to reach the window just before lunch/closing time. I chose to go to another, bigger and better post office with longer working hours. However as luck would have it, I reached there just 40 minutes before lunch time.

At 1345 or so, there were exactly eight persons standing before me, when the man at the window (which I will call window-one) announced that the window next to him (window-two) would also start service at 1400 hours. He did not say, nor did anybody ask if the present window would continue service or not. There was a bit of confusion in our line which by now was around 25 persons-long. Some people decided to form a new line in front of window-two. I was in two minds whether I should join them. I enquired if the present window-one would be closing for lunch at 1400 hours, nobody seemed to know! During the next 15 minutes I decided to move to line #2 but only after ensuring that I would come back to my original position if the service at window-one continued past 1400 hours.

At 1400 hours, a man –another postal employee -came and stood behind window-two. Seeing people lined up there, he shouted, “This line is not allowed. All of you must join line #1. When window-one shuts down for lunch at 1400 hours, the same line will move to window-two. So until all of join the line for window-one, I will not commence service “.

The people in line #2 were caught unaware and started reacted animatedly,
“We were told to make a new line”, came one response;
“If you did not want us to form a line, why tell us that this window is opening at 1400 hours?”, said another irritated young man;
“Don’t open the window, do what you want. We will continue to stand here”, came yet another angry voice.
One person who had cleverly positioned himself between both the lines made a wise crack, “Instead of arguing, you could have processed two envelopes in all this time! It’s because of such attitudes that private courier services are flourishing!”

Taking advantage of the commotion, I moved back into line #1.

In the meanwhile, another interesting discussion ensued at window-one. An old man standing next in line (to the person being attended to) was trying to get his envelopes processed before the window shut down. Trying to woo the man-behind-the-window he said, “Would really appreciate if you could process my envelopes before you close this window”.

The man-behind-the-window wasn’t pleased, “Are you suggesting that I skip my lunch and process your envelopes?”

The old man was taken aback, “I didn’t say that, all I did was to request you to process my envelopes before you left. I have been standing in line for the past hour and half, and felt that the argument going on at the next window might delay things further, so.....”.

“If you say so, I will not have my lunch and will continue working for you”, the window-one man charged again.

Raising his hands in despair, the old man gave up saying, “ I am sorry for bringing this up. I guess you must be pretty hungry and tired by now. Please do what you feel is right.”

By then, with great reluctance, people from the new line had moved back into line #1 and the service at window-two commenced. Typically each transaction took 10-15 minutes. Most people had something or the other issue – some had incomplete addresses, some had pin-codes missing or then some simply did not have exact change to pay for the service.

As time progressed, the person standing behind me was getting restless. I asked him what his problem was. “I have a different kind of letter to post”, he said.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

He showed me a letter that was wrapped in a similar manjarpaat cloth, and was sealed with lacquer. “This is a confidential police document. I am not supposed to declare its contents”, he said and added, “I am worried that they might ask me to open it.”
Until then the possibility of having to open my parcel had not crossed my mind. I shuddered with the idea. I told him that I too had a parcel and wondered if I too might have to open it. He suggested that I need not to wait until my turn to check with the man-behind-the-window. I mustered the courage to do so and asked if this I was in the correct place for sending parcels overseas. I guess the word “foreign” caught the man-behind-the-window’s attention. He said, “Yes Madam, but show me what kind of parcel”. I proudly fished out my neatly prepared Manjarpaat package, and held it in the air for him (and the whole room) to see.

“Why did you pack it? You need to show us the contents first. What is in it?”, he enquired.

“A few Tee-shirts and some Rakhis”, I replied sheepishly, fully aware that by now everybody in the room knew about my grand rakshabandhan gesture.

“What are they worth? You still need to show us what it is in there....”, he persisted.

A man standing next to me offered me a blade cutter hinting that I make a small hole in the parcel for the guy to inspect the contents. There were four more persons standing in line before me so I promptly took to boring a hole in the package. While I was at it, the man-behind-the window shouted, “Can I see the parcel please?”

“Sure”, I said and passed it on.

Looking at it keenly, he turned it upside-down several times. I had a feeling that he was about to congratulate me for the great job I had done maintaining the packaging tradition of our great Indian postal system.

“Who asked you to pack it like this? Why have you covered the address with plastic? You can’t have this address written like this ...it has to be written directly on to the parcel with “foreign parcel” written on top with a permanent marker....do you have a permanent marker? “

I was stumped.

Before I could organise my thoughts and formulate a response, he bombarded again, “And this is an old declaration form, where did you get it? “.

“From the other post office, just last week. Only the format is different, the information required is the same”, I thought I had a logical argument.

“Then mail it from that post office. I will not accept it”, he said sharply, “If you want to mail it from here, I will give you the new form – get 4 copies xeroxed, stick one copy to the backside of the package using the gum kept there and then staple three more copies on top in a way that........”, he went on and on.

I couldn’t bear to hear any more instructions. All I heard was, “Madam, next time if you have something like this, please come early!”

By then I had picked up my parcel and walked out of the building, determined never to come back!



PS I ended up couriering the thing yesterday. Hope it reaches my near and dear ones in good time and shape!

Manjarpaat and the Indian Postal System - Remembering slavery!

Its 3 30pm and I just got back from the Post Office. I was there to mail a parcel to my brother for Rakshabandhan that is to take place 10 days from now.

For the first time in a long time I was pleased with myself for expediting things well in advance. I had packed all the presents -TANTRA Tee-Shirts -neatly in a box wrapped in clear plastic to escape the wrath of Indian monsoons, complete with an address label also placed in a clear plastic bag of its own. I thought the package looked pretty neat and adequate.

On reaching the post office the lady at the counter, eyeing me and the parcel suspiciously, asked me where I wanted to send it. I answered, “to America”.

“Where in America?”, came a counter question.

“Cleveland, Ohio”, I replied.

“This box won’t do!”, came the verdict.

I wondered if the destination had anything to do with the packaging material. “Is it because I want to send it to Cleveland?”, I persisted.

“That has nothing to do with it. We do not accept parcels in boxes”.

I waited for more. She did not say more. I waited. Nothing.

I swallowed my irritation and made another attempt.

“If boxes are not acceptable, what should I pack my things in?”

“You will have to stitch it in a cloth bag –either white or cream coloured manjarpaat”. [Manjarpaat is a Marathi word for something like coarse, unbleached cloth – reminiscent of Manchester’s direct and indirect connections with the transatlantic slave trade!]

“Where can I get those cloth bags?”

“You will have to go into town and get them made.....or else check with the guy across the street who makes mattresses.”

I walked down to the guy across the street who makes mattresses. He was taking a nap in his half-open shop and was somewhat upset to have been woken up for a piece of manjarpaat. “We used to make them earlier but now we don’t. If you get the material from ‘city’ (meaning down-town) I might be willing to stich it up for you”, he snapped.

The guy repairing bags next door overheard our conversation and signaled me, “I have some manjarpaat lying with me, see if it’s suitable for your work”.

I was thrilled to have finally found someone willing to help. I said it was okay and asked him if he would stitch the bag as well. He examined my parcel and quoted Rs.60/- for the entire job. I tried to haggle, but then gave in considering the urgency of the matter, and the fact that I would not have to go into the ‘city’ to buy the cloth, and look for a tailor who would stitch a bag for me, and so on. The bag-wala took only 15 minutes to do a great job that also included sewing the address label in the plastic bag on top.

I walked triumphantly back to the post office only to be told that the parcel section was closed and that I should come back tomorrow. The lady at the counter added that I should not forget to stitch four copies of the declaration form on to the parcel. On asking for the form, she told me that those forms would be available in the stationary store next door who would open at 4pm after his siesta!

Six minutes is a lot of time!

It happened yesterday, and it happened again today....and both times I realized it while waiting for a bus.

Last night as Catherine and I stepped out of the building, it started snowing.... as if on reflex, C decided to bunk gym, leave her bike in the shed and take the bus with me.....we walked towards the bus-stop in that blizzard only to find out that we had just missed a bus, and the next one was due only 30 minutes later. Rather than stand there and freeze, we did an about-turn and walked back to the department, which incidentally is only a 5-6 minute walk from the bus-stop, and warmed ourselves with hot chocolate. We didn't step out until we had just enough time to reach before the bus arrived. But to our dismay, the bus was 6 minutes late, and in those 6 minutes it snowed so hard......we were so cold...I couldn't feel my toes as we entered the damn bus!

And this morning, I arrived at the bus stop exactly 6 minutes early and had the same experience - it snowed again... and this time too, I froze. I got in thanking my stars that today the bus was on time.... six minutes is hell of a lot of time when one is standing at bus-stop and it begins to snow!

Embracing the Winter....

Ever since I got here, everyone's been saying "you've come at the wrong time", "...this is one of the coldest winters we've had in the past 10 years.....", "its going to be freezing again this week...", and so on. I was prepared for a cold winter but lost my confidence when I heard the locals say that it was too cold. Just before leaving, a cousin remarked that the most difficult part for us from the tropics is the footwear - we never seem to have the right kind of shoes to wear in the snow! Reminded me of my adventure walking down in sneakers on the slippery sidewalks in Ottawa many years ago - this time I was prepared - I had ankle length leather shoes, made in Matheran! and guess what, they rock!! Went for a winter walk in snow and sleet and nothing happened! Mind you I haven't seen my toes for the past 2 months or so!!!

For me, the more tiresome part is the clothes, and the advice on what to wear and what not to wear...."wear layers, they're easy to peel off as required", "thermals might make you feel hot indoors, but they are good if you are cycling", "cover your head- your body heat escapes from there", "don't forget to wear warm woollen socks!" So layers it is! No compromises when it comes to keeping warm so I end up putting on as many warm clothes as I have, one on top of the other...couldn't care less if it substantially enhances my already large frame (!) And inspite of all those over-sized layers, I still feel cold! Not to mention what a dhyan I must be looking like, all bundled up!! And then comes the cap, the gloves and the scarves....no scope to wear earrings or necklaces with those things....the cap just about covers the ears, the gloves have a tendency to get wet, and the scarves never match the outfits!! In any case there isn't much to match when one has a choice of only 2-3 colors....most people wear only black throughout this season, some daring ones try gray and if one really wants some color - navy blue!! Guess I'm the only crazy woman going around in a red jacket!! which later to my dismay I was told was a Spring Jacket. Honestly, with its fleece lining and all, I always thought it was warm enough (at least it was in Punes' almost non-existent winters!!) .... my brother suggested that I go in for a modular kind - the type where one can remove layers as required...when I went shopping, I realized that there is a whole range of jackets to wear while doing different things in different weather conditions! And as I dealt with my confusion, the Euro price tags made me shiver once again!!

Here I am....

"Here we are...face to face.... " Have been listening to this Gloria Estefan song over and over again these past few days. Its not that the lyrics are resonating with the state of my mind....but there's something very powerful and catchy about the first line, that keeps repeating throughout the song... to me it is hinting that life is coming full circle....

Went thro' a quick mental stock-taking of the past 10 years as it were...and to my surprise there's some pattern in the craziness that I've endured....we all make mistakes...but at some level this phenomenon makes me feel normal.... Peaks & Valleys in clear alternation...there's been no year in those 10 years that this feature has taken a leave of absence...its amazing!

Tonight I shall sleep with a satisfaction that I aint as crazy...better still, that my life is NORMAL!!