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!
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!
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