The walk to the postoffice everyday afternoon after 3pm was a routine for my grandfather. Being a school kid who had just started the rigors of school life, I used to look forward to this on the days I missed school and on Saturdays. While struggling to keep up with his long strides, I would be running a few yards in front and then waiting for him and once he would catch up then I would again run ahead. We did not speak much or rather he did not speak much. He would exchange very brief pleasantries with people we met on the way. Once we crossed the paddy fields we would reach the road. This daily pilgrimage to the postoffice was in anticipation of a letter from my father. We would stroll across the road and go up to the Post office. The Post Office was in the largest of the buildings on the road in our village. It had about 4 rooms on the ground floor and the post office upstairs. The biggest grocery shop for the village was also there. Afternoons in our leisurely paced life at the village can put an insomniac to sleep. The warm and humid weather with an occasional breeze from the paddy fields that felt cool on the skin could easily lull you to sleep, especially if you have had a heavy starchy lunch. The shopkeeper sitting on the worn wooden stool with his feet up on the open sacks of rice and his head resting on the wall behind, would be enjoying his siesta. He would punctuate his sleep with comments like 'bus from north is late today', 'chance of a cloud burst today', 'fish monger, Abdu is late today' ......... I have always wondered if these comments were made as a deterrent to those who might feel like tasting the jaggery or other eatables in the shop during his siesta. He also had a unique way of sitting on the stool without soiling or crumbling his 'mundu'. He would lift his 'mundu' sit on the stool and drop the 'mundu', which would appear to 'skirt' the wooden stool.
At the corner of the veranda was the rickety wooden stairs that led to the post office. Instead of a bannister there was a rope hanging from the roof mid-way up the stairs. Invariably we would reach the postoffice before the postman's arrival. The postman would have cycled to the nearby town to pick up the mail. We would spent the next few minutes or more looking up the road to look out for the postman's cycle to make its appearance and observing life in the vicinity. There was always a couple of ardent chess players on the veranda, playing with charcoal drawn squares on the floor and pieces made out of the stem of a plantain tree. The game would always be played in silence and had an audience of another two. Beedi smoke added to the flavour of the game's tensions.
If the postman was considerbaly delayed, the postmaster would come down the stairs and make some appropriate comments. The post master, popularly known as 'Maash' or more specifically 'Kanaran Maash', was a stocky built person with an impressive moustache. Fortyfive years ago, it was a salt & pepper moustache that was luxurious and the tips pointed heavenward. It was not just the moustache that brought out the 'uniformed' look in him, all his actions were very military like. Since this was not a 'real' Post Office (later in my life I came to know this PO was an Extra-Departmental PO) Kanaran Maash and his team did not wear the regular uniform, while the postman (Warrier) was always in his spotless white khadi, Maash had pastel shade shirts to match his white mundu. Warrier would then appear around the bend in the road, his cycle bell waking others waiting like me and my grandfather and draw them towards the post office.
The privileged among us would climb up the stairs with Kanaran Maash while the others would wait on the veranda. There would be two bags, one more like a sack was larger and tied at the mouth with a jute string while the other smaller bag had the mouth sealed with sealing wax.There would also be a few pages of paper which both the post officials would joke about and keep aside. Then the suspence of the contents of the sack - Warrier would first empty the sack on his table, then check the empty sack three times for any stray or missed letters. The empty sack would then be discarded to a corner on the floor.He would then gather all the letters into a neat stack and place them face down on the table. On the table he had a stamp ink pad, which was like a royal crown with a shiny brass lining on the sides and a blue-black inky cushion at the top. Next to the royal crown was a royal staff, this was the stamp with a changeable date on it. The stamping ritual would begin with a customary pouring of ink into the cushion and testing of the stamp on the newspaper that covered the table. Next five minutes (depending on the volume of letters) was what I always looked forward to. Warrier would tilt the pile of letters onto the table and with the index finger of his left hand, he would push the un-willing letters to the centre of the table. Once the letter was in the correct range, his right fist holding the royal staff would come down with a loud 'thump' and stamp the letter. With another flick of the back of his right hand, the stamped letter would get pushed to a side. His hands working with clock-work precison and would create music -- rustle, THUMP - rustle ....
Once the whole pile was done , he would turn the pile over and read the addressee names. and handout the letters. He normally would have very few letters to deliver to doorsteps as all those anticipating letters would be in attendance at the post office. For the few others , who were employed outside the village , the letters would be left behind at the grocery store.
I dont know what changes have happened at the post office now. But one change I came across in the obituary coloumns this week.
ബാലുശ്ശേരി: വിമുക്തഭടന് കരുമല ടി.സി. കണാരന് (97) അന്തരിച്ചു. രണ്ടാം ലോക മഹായുദ്ധത്തില് പങ്കെടുത്തിട്ടുണ്ട്. പോസ്റ്റ്മാസ്റ്ററായും പ്രവര്ത്തിച്ചിരുന്നു. ഭാര്യ: കുട്ടിമാത. മക്കള്: ജാനു (ഫാര്മസിസ്റ്റ്), പത്മിനി, രവി (വിമുക്തഭടന്), ലീല, തങ്കമണി (താലൂക്ക് ഓഫീസ് ക്ലര്ക്ക്). മരുമക്കള്: പരേതനായ കരുണാകരന്, ചാത്തു, കണാരക്കുട്ടി (റിട്ട. കെ.എസ്.ഇ.ബി.), പരേതനായ ഭാസ്കരന്, പത്മാവതി (എസ്. എന്. എസ്. എസ്. നന്മണ്ട).
