Representative image of research showing Laptop computer with books, pen and legal pad.
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This incident, which took place around the 1920s, was narrated by my father, who was then a schoolboy. His unlettered grandmother would get one of her grandsons to write letters to her relatives that she would dictate. Once, it was my father’s turn. He wrote in a postcard all she dictated, and then the address as she dictated:
Go to the Byatarayana Swamy temple priest at Nonavinakere. Ask him where Namagiriyamma lives. Ask Namagiriyamma to show the way to Seethamma’s house. Give this postcard to Seethamma’s daughter-in-law, Lakshmi.
Trying hard not to laugh, he wrote as dictated, sure it would end in the wilderness. Wonder of wonders! Granny received a reply within a week! That’s how efficient the Indian postal system was.
The postman was more than the face of the postal system. He was a dear friend and guide. This barefoot soldier, carrying a heavy sack of letters on his shoulder, commanded great respect as he patiently sat with the illiterate members, reading or writing letters for them. In the hot summer months, he was offered salted buttermilk and a fat packet of snacks after festivals.
Every morning, my grandfather would stand at the gate, waiting for the postman. If there was a letter, he would hand it over and exchange a few words. If not, loudly greet ‘namaskara saar’ and move on. One Monday, not finding my grandfather at the usual place, he walked in and wept when he learned my grandfather had suffered a fatal brainstroke.
The advent of the internet revolutionised our communication, and letter writing lost its charm. Postcards and inland letters have all but disappeared. Post(wo)man now makes a rare appearance, carrying only a handful of letters.
A family friend, being a stickler for traditions, decided to ‘post’ the invitation cards for his daughter’s wedding instead of dashing them off on emails. He got 500 of them printed, smeared the corners with turmeric, as is the tradition, wrote the correct addresses with pincodes, and handed them over personally to the postal officials. The wedding was a grand affair. But more than 200 invitees didn’t turn up, and my friend had to face the ire of his friends and relatives for not inviting them to the wedding, all thanks to the inefficiency of the postal system. Complaining didn’t help, as it was impossible to track a bookpost, it’s like an orphan caught in the system.
I subscribe to a couple of Kannada magazines, which often play truant! If and when they make their rare appearance, it is due to some good Samaritan who drops it in my mail box with an attached note saying that it was wrongly delivered by the postman to his mail box! I don’t regret not getting the books through book-post any more. The picture in my mind of some other book lover devouring it gladdens me.