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!