"Don't worry! Your result will come tomorrow. Pukka! (definite)" reassured the postman surveying the disappointment writ on our innocent faces. Every year, during the first week of May, we stalked the postman as he did his rounds.. once in the morning and again in the afternoon. We waited with bated breath for the 'self addressed envelopes' containing our High School final results. The postman ceased to be just a messenger and suddenly assumed greater importance than anyone else in life- as if he handcrafted the results personally for each of us! "My result is coming tomorrow. The postman said so!" we would run and announce at home!
The next day was just as futile. No results.
"All the boys in Jain Society have already got their results. Kumar Majithia got it last week itself. Why are you not giving it to us?" It hurt the postman when we accused him thus squarely. On those days, he simply passed the buck and sent us on a wild goose chase. "Check with Godambe (pronounced goad (like goat)-aambay) at the Sion Central Post Office. He knows everything!"
The next few afternoons were busy. We hung around at the Sion Central Post Office, a behemoth of a complex with multiple floors, several cobwebbed, dusty rooms and teeming with posts and postmen. No one knew why we were there in the first place, sometimes asking for "our results" and at other times asking for "Godambe". Our presence irritated the officials and we ran the risk of being thrown out. No one had heard of any Godambe. We weren't even clear whether he was a postman or a postmaster. Someone had the temerity to chuckle that "ambes" (mangoes) were "god" (sweet in Marathi) this time of the year... especially Alphonso mangoes but sorry, there was no one by that name! The humour was lost on us; on the contrary, we found it laboured and dry.
When the envelope finally reached our trembling hands, the postman hung around in the side-lines. If someone let out a euphoric cry, "I passed! Yes! I actually passed!" the postman would be visibly pleased. "I told you that you will pass! Why were you so worried all these days?" He collected his "baksheesh", whistled a little tune and went about his job with cheer. He made it a point to come back to that house the next day to collect his box of sweets.
Chotu was not so lucky. Despite the postman's assurance that he will pass, Chotu failed and had to repeat a year in the same class. More importantly, our postman had to slink away that day and couldn't collect his "baksheesh". You never shoot the messenger, but Chotu's mom gave the postman a earful for being a harbinger of bad-news and went to the extent of saying that she didn't want to see his "manhoos chehra" (ill-boding face) anymore!
The postman was more dejected with life than even Chotu. He needed counselling and had to be egged on with the philosophy that we can only do our bounden duty. The fruit is not in our hands. Sometimes, we get "baksheesh", sometimes "bakwas" and brickbats!
But we knew our postman and knew him well. He was dressed in khakhi and carried a bag overflowing with inland-letters, postcards, greeting cards, registered posts, money-orders and occasionally even magazines. Communication was open and transparent in those days. If the postman got bored, he simply flipped the back of a picture-postcard- read the intimate lines from a certain Mr X in London to a Miss Y in Mumbai and amused himself!
A recent article says that sparrows are on the brink of extinction due to the radiation from the cell-phone towers. We have no idea why cell-phones target sparrows in particular. While the veracity of this theory is yet to be confirmed, we are sure that cell-phones and email have driven the postmen to extinction. The days of handwritten letters delivered through postmen are passe.
If at all we remember postmen, it is only during the forbidding "antakshari" (film music) sessions in parties. "Da se?" (from the letter D?) asks a youngster. He immediately breaks into a thought provoking song of yesteryears -"Daakiya-daak laaya, daakiya-daak laaaya, daakiya daak laaya...." (the postman (daakiya) brings mail (daak), the postman brings mail...). He goes on and on, with little melody or variation and with no end in sight! Can someone stop this chap? Does this song even have a second line? Can the daakiya bring a duck for a change? Daakiya duck laaya, daakiya duck laaya! Daakiya duck laaya! We are sitting ducks all right.
The next day was just as futile. No results.
"All the boys in Jain Society have already got their results. Kumar Majithia got it last week itself. Why are you not giving it to us?" It hurt the postman when we accused him thus squarely. On those days, he simply passed the buck and sent us on a wild goose chase. "Check with Godambe (pronounced goad (like goat)-aambay) at the Sion Central Post Office. He knows everything!"
The next few afternoons were busy. We hung around at the Sion Central Post Office, a behemoth of a complex with multiple floors, several cobwebbed, dusty rooms and teeming with posts and postmen. No one knew why we were there in the first place, sometimes asking for "our results" and at other times asking for "Godambe". Our presence irritated the officials and we ran the risk of being thrown out. No one had heard of any Godambe. We weren't even clear whether he was a postman or a postmaster. Someone had the temerity to chuckle that "ambes" (mangoes) were "god" (sweet in Marathi) this time of the year... especially Alphonso mangoes but sorry, there was no one by that name! The humour was lost on us; on the contrary, we found it laboured and dry.
When the envelope finally reached our trembling hands, the postman hung around in the side-lines. If someone let out a euphoric cry, "I passed! Yes! I actually passed!" the postman would be visibly pleased. "I told you that you will pass! Why were you so worried all these days?" He collected his "baksheesh", whistled a little tune and went about his job with cheer. He made it a point to come back to that house the next day to collect his box of sweets.
Chotu was not so lucky. Despite the postman's assurance that he will pass, Chotu failed and had to repeat a year in the same class. More importantly, our postman had to slink away that day and couldn't collect his "baksheesh". You never shoot the messenger, but Chotu's mom gave the postman a earful for being a harbinger of bad-news and went to the extent of saying that she didn't want to see his "manhoos chehra" (ill-boding face) anymore!
The postman was more dejected with life than even Chotu. He needed counselling and had to be egged on with the philosophy that we can only do our bounden duty. The fruit is not in our hands. Sometimes, we get "baksheesh", sometimes "bakwas" and brickbats!
But we knew our postman and knew him well. He was dressed in khakhi and carried a bag overflowing with inland-letters, postcards, greeting cards, registered posts, money-orders and occasionally even magazines. Communication was open and transparent in those days. If the postman got bored, he simply flipped the back of a picture-postcard- read the intimate lines from a certain Mr X in London to a Miss Y in Mumbai and amused himself!
A recent article says that sparrows are on the brink of extinction due to the radiation from the cell-phone towers. We have no idea why cell-phones target sparrows in particular. While the veracity of this theory is yet to be confirmed, we are sure that cell-phones and email have driven the postmen to extinction. The days of handwritten letters delivered through postmen are passe.
If at all we remember postmen, it is only during the forbidding "antakshari" (film music) sessions in parties. "Da se?" (from the letter D?) asks a youngster. He immediately breaks into a thought provoking song of yesteryears -"Daakiya-daak laaya, daakiya-daak laaaya, daakiya daak laaya...." (the postman (daakiya) brings mail (daak), the postman brings mail...). He goes on and on, with little melody or variation and with no end in sight! Can someone stop this chap? Does this song even have a second line? Can the daakiya bring a duck for a change? Daakiya duck laaya, daakiya duck laaya! Daakiya duck laaya! We are sitting ducks all right.
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