The Post Box

Wait a minute! What’s this? Oh... no... no...! I’m not a dustbin! Hey! Don’t do that! Ufff... this stinks! Ewww... Seriously! People have lost all sense of decency. Well, what can I say? This is what is become of me and my kind today. Sigh! 

I’m sure some of you mustn’t have even seen me forget even hear about me. I’m this dilapidated box hanging on an old rickety fence. The red paint is chipping off my body; I sorely need a new coating of paint. But who cares? All around me is this horribly stinking garbage and the endless swarm of buzzing flies. No one comes near me these days. I’m so lonely and sad. 

But I hadn’t always been like this. I remember that day so clearly when the new post office was set up in this village. It had been a grand occasion. The old building of the post office had been renovated. It had been expanded and more staff employed. Everyone was so happy. Some big officers were to come for the grand inauguration. The whole building was decorated with garlands of marigold and ashoka leaves. I was lovingly fastened to the newly painted white fence surrounding the post office. A fresh garland of yellow marigolds was also placed around me. From where I hung I could see the preparations for the grand opening in full swing. Colourful buntings were festooned from end to end of the open grounds. A small stage had been set up in one corner of the open ground under the neem tree. The trunk of the huge neem tree was also wrapped with streamers. What festivity and what a lot of activity! Some big officers from the city arrived to inaugurate the post office. They were welcomed traditionally and garlands were placed around their neck. The ceremony began at about four o’ clock in the evening. Everyone was seated on wooden chairs that were unfolded earlier in the morning and arranged in neat rows. The village headman spoke a few words from the small but brightly decorated stage. He invited one of the big sahibs from the big city to speak a few words on the mike. All the villagers who had gathered listened happily. They clapped loudly when the sahib called the postmaster and the postmen appointed, on the stage. It was quite crowded on the stage but nobody seemed to mind. The sahibs then walked to the building of the post office followed by the village headman, the postmaster, postmen and the eager villagers. One of the big sahibs cut the red ribbon at the door. Everyone cheered loudly. There were smiles and laughter all around.  A tea party followed. Samosas and jalebis ordered from Panjulal Halwai’s shop around the corner were eaten with much gusto. Kanhaiya, the young lad from the village’s only tea stall rushed to and fro with cans of tea. 

As for me, I remember the village kids gathering around me in the coming days. They admired my handsome look and praised me endlessly. You see... I was dressed in a bright shade of red. On my head there was this huge black cap. My mouth too was enormous and was coloured with black. It was from here that you could put in letters, postcards, money orders and telegrams. My stomach had a big opening in the front from which the post man could take out all that I had eaten during the day. He would fill his sack with all the mail and carry it into the post office. There would always be a lock on my stomach which only the postman could open. How I loved to gobble those letters, parcels and other pieces of paper. Some children were very naughty. They played pranks on each other and told fibs about me being a monster. Oh... how I remember one little boy telling his group of friends as they returned from school one day that I would devour their hands if they put them too far inside my mouth. I laughed so hard that I almost fell off the fence. I accept that made quite a scary sound. The boy looked at me in alarm and ran off screaming, believing his own made up story. What fun those days were! 

Sometimes groups of women would stop by to share a tasty morsel of gossip with each other. I listened in delight to the long and never-ending stories of mothers-in-law, daughters-in-law, jewellery, marriages, vegetables, kitchens, lazy husbands, good-for-nothing children, eccentric neighbours, greedy relatives, tenacious guests and what not. I observed that men were more ‘picky’ about their topics of discussion; they would discuss their means of income, the crop, their fields, the market prices for the grain, the weather, the rain, the nagging of the womenfolk of the family and the likes.  And, thus my days passed pleasantly in the warm sunshine as the weather allowed. 

One reality of life is change. Time passes and time changes. The village gradually grew into a town. I got very busy; I can’t say I wasn’t happy. I became so important with all the mail that came and went through me. But that didn’t last for very long. The mail – papers and parcels began to become fewer and fewer. I felt puzzled and wondered what could be the cause. The people visiting the post office also dwindled with the passing years. The town graduated into a small city. There was a great hustle and bustle around the post office but the building itself had a forlorn look. Then I heard two postmen talking about some devices called mobile phones. It seems people could talk to each other with them at the click of a button. And, electronic mails could be sent from computers (whatever they were). But I guess they are the reason why I’m ignored today. 

And, ignored I am! Today, I look terrible. The paint has long chipped off. I’m hanging at a crazy angle and can fall off the fence any day just like Humpty-Dumpty tumbled off his wall. No one comes near me unless he or she has to empty a dustbin. Rats run around in my stomach and flies buzz around my head! The stench is nauseating but I’m hopeful that someday my lot will improve. What do you say?  

Image credits: telegraphindia