Tha catterpillar wriggled and crawled its way under his collar. The postmaster gave his shirt a little scratch and twitched his shoulders. Something obviously irritated him."Where is the pincode on this letter? You please fill it. No! No! We can't find the pincode for any Dhamtari district here. Where is it ? Chhatisgarh ? I have no idea. You please fill it and come back. Next person please....." His attention was on the next customer. My attention though was on him and the catterpillar. Beads of perspiration drenched the postmaster and his ebony skin gleamed like a well-oiled granite idol in a temple. The catterpillar made more headway and gnawed at him with greater vengeance! The postmaster glanced at his shirt pocket, half squinting his eyes. But the catterpillar was within the "least distance of distinct vision" and eluded him. He rotated the left shoulder blade clockwise a couple of times and again anti-clockwise, rubbed his collar too but didn't find relief.
I was still a few heads away from him. It was time to act. "Hello!" I began and watched all heads turn to me. I pointed a finger at him and shouted "Insect! Keeda! Poochi!" in three different languages. In a mock imitation, I pretended to scratch my chest with both my arms. To my horror, the postmaster took offence and didn't pay attention to the words "under your collar" which somehow didn't have the same volume. He was under the impression that I was calling him a "keeda" (creep!) with monkey-like mannerisms to boot! It was already resembling the spat between Symonds and Harbhajan Singh with a distinct possibility of snow-balling into a brawl. He briefly stood up, removed his spectacles and postured aggressively- "Saar! I hope you are educated! I can't do any faster. You have to wait for your turn."
Nasty stares met my eyes and silence appeared a preferable option in the circumstances. I left the postmaster to his fate and surveyed my surroundings.
Like most post-offices in this part of the globe, it hadn't seen a broom for at least a quarter of a century. Over us was a false ceiling made up of frayed thermocol sheets supported by a grill and home to many generations of spiders. One of the sheets was missing and made way for a low-hanging ceiling fan which whirred away lazily, more ornamental than utilitarian. Shelves were filled with envelopes, parcels, magazines and several files with oversized paper sticking out of them and yellowed with age. Hopefully, these were not undelivered correspondence! A picture of Gandhiji was stacked over one such bunch with the words 'customer is my God' scrawled on it. Evidently, no one had found the time to nail the picture to the wall.
On one side was a table, the top of which looked like a collage- inlaid with a million tiny paper strips, perforated corners of stamps, some badly torn stamps and copious glue stains which gave the table-top a nice, shiny facade. A conical, blue bottle of gum stood on one side. The cap was missing and so was the swab to apply the glue! In its place was a makeshift twig to serve the purpose.
It takes a lot of dexterity to use the glue. One gentleman struggled with the twig, gave-up and made the fatal mistake of tilting the gum bottle in full over his envelope. An oversized blob of gum plopped on his envelope and completely disfigured the address that he had so carefully written. We heard a swear and a hasty retreat and the man was not to be seen thereafter.
The episode convinced another to use saliva. It appeared a safer alternative, though a trifle disgusting for an onlooker especially when a dozen stamps have to be stuck this way! The after-taste must have been particularly awkward judging by the way the chap continued to hang his tongue out!
Someone made the mistake of having excessive adhesive on his hands. He stuck the stamp onto the envelope and slammed it with his fist a few times to double-check that it was stuck nice and well. At the end of the pounding, to his dismay, the stamp had latched onto his fist like a leech and refused to travel with the envelope!
Another youngster carelessly leaned against the table laden with glue so that when he extricated himself, he found that the table had pinched away a part of his pant at the back and had probably drilled into his underwear as well!
On the other side of the table lay a pen chained to a peg to ensure that no one walked away with it. The effort seemed quite unnecessary for it was a relic from another era- no nib and incapable of writing using normal methods. At best, it could possibly be used to etch letters on palm leaves.
"Your turn saar"- announced the post-master, twisting his torso, still in discomfort. "Sir! There is an insect under your collar. That is all I wanted to convey!" I said calmly.
"Where? Where?" jumped the post master, skipping animatedly, jerking his shirt off and ruffling his trousers as well! An attendant ran for cover as if a snake was in the premises! A few others in the queue backed away in the ensuing commotion. "There sir, right below your chin!" The postmaster soon spotted the predator and flicked it away with his thumb and forefinger to finally free the hapless creature from his person.
"Why couldn't you tell me earlier?" he began. "I tried sir," I protested, only to be cut short curtly. His tone irritated me and I silently wished it had been a scorpion instead!
I was still a few heads away from him. It was time to act. "Hello!" I began and watched all heads turn to me. I pointed a finger at him and shouted "Insect! Keeda! Poochi!" in three different languages. In a mock imitation, I pretended to scratch my chest with both my arms. To my horror, the postmaster took offence and didn't pay attention to the words "under your collar" which somehow didn't have the same volume. He was under the impression that I was calling him a "keeda" (creep!) with monkey-like mannerisms to boot! It was already resembling the spat between Symonds and Harbhajan Singh with a distinct possibility of snow-balling into a brawl. He briefly stood up, removed his spectacles and postured aggressively- "Saar! I hope you are educated! I can't do any faster. You have to wait for your turn."
Nasty stares met my eyes and silence appeared a preferable option in the circumstances. I left the postmaster to his fate and surveyed my surroundings.
Like most post-offices in this part of the globe, it hadn't seen a broom for at least a quarter of a century. Over us was a false ceiling made up of frayed thermocol sheets supported by a grill and home to many generations of spiders. One of the sheets was missing and made way for a low-hanging ceiling fan which whirred away lazily, more ornamental than utilitarian. Shelves were filled with envelopes, parcels, magazines and several files with oversized paper sticking out of them and yellowed with age. Hopefully, these were not undelivered correspondence! A picture of Gandhiji was stacked over one such bunch with the words 'customer is my God' scrawled on it. Evidently, no one had found the time to nail the picture to the wall.
On one side was a table, the top of which looked like a collage- inlaid with a million tiny paper strips, perforated corners of stamps, some badly torn stamps and copious glue stains which gave the table-top a nice, shiny facade. A conical, blue bottle of gum stood on one side. The cap was missing and so was the swab to apply the glue! In its place was a makeshift twig to serve the purpose.
It takes a lot of dexterity to use the glue. One gentleman struggled with the twig, gave-up and made the fatal mistake of tilting the gum bottle in full over his envelope. An oversized blob of gum plopped on his envelope and completely disfigured the address that he had so carefully written. We heard a swear and a hasty retreat and the man was not to be seen thereafter.
The episode convinced another to use saliva. It appeared a safer alternative, though a trifle disgusting for an onlooker especially when a dozen stamps have to be stuck this way! The after-taste must have been particularly awkward judging by the way the chap continued to hang his tongue out!
Someone made the mistake of having excessive adhesive on his hands. He stuck the stamp onto the envelope and slammed it with his fist a few times to double-check that it was stuck nice and well. At the end of the pounding, to his dismay, the stamp had latched onto his fist like a leech and refused to travel with the envelope!
Another youngster carelessly leaned against the table laden with glue so that when he extricated himself, he found that the table had pinched away a part of his pant at the back and had probably drilled into his underwear as well!
On the other side of the table lay a pen chained to a peg to ensure that no one walked away with it. The effort seemed quite unnecessary for it was a relic from another era- no nib and incapable of writing using normal methods. At best, it could possibly be used to etch letters on palm leaves.
"Your turn saar"- announced the post-master, twisting his torso, still in discomfort. "Sir! There is an insect under your collar. That is all I wanted to convey!" I said calmly.
"Where? Where?" jumped the post master, skipping animatedly, jerking his shirt off and ruffling his trousers as well! An attendant ran for cover as if a snake was in the premises! A few others in the queue backed away in the ensuing commotion. "There sir, right below your chin!" The postmaster soon spotted the predator and flicked it away with his thumb and forefinger to finally free the hapless creature from his person.
"Why couldn't you tell me earlier?" he began. "I tried sir," I protested, only to be cut short curtly. His tone irritated me and I silently wished it had been a scorpion instead!
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