Lucknow Musings: The Post Office

The Post Office was located a little drive away from our house, but it was (is) a noble structure- quite like a doll-house- with a steep flight of steps on each side- leading to the main landing and then a few more to the iron- gated office. Once inside, you were greeted by a neat row of counters- each with their teller window - numbered and labelled- don't remember what they actually said but there was one for stamps, envelopes and inland letters which we frequented the most. So we had to patiently (or impatiently) wait our turn in the queue and softly whisper our requirement- for the whole area in an atmosphere of high ceilinged fans and airy large windows seemed more like a library- it was always so quiet. If you had a special request like a registered letter, you had to fill up some forms- on a clean mica table with some pens and a few writing boards left specially for this purpose. No one ever thought of stealing such things and they lay there- unfettered- quite like the place itself- languid, quiet and reassuring. In front of the Post Office were three post boxes- tall, round and wearing the typical round hats- one for local letters painted green, one for domestic mail painted red and the other for international mail painted yellow. We always read the label carefully each time- even though we invariably used the familiar red box- and felt excited when the postman opened the box and a barrage of letters fell out (these were the days pre-mobile phone and pre-e-mail) and he stuffed them into his brown rucksack gleefully. We always looked for Noddy's Postman- like behaviour in all postmen. Many a stamp was bought at the old Post Office and many a registered form sent off to the prospective MBA college. Needless to say, the staff was always polite, respectful and helpful. Such was the courtesy of a doll-house like Post Office. In a tiny lane leading upto the Arya Kanya Pathshala was a postbox- hammered to the wall- and it was here that the monthly bulletin to the Delhi Mausi was dropped in. Earlier Granny used to do it, our hands never quite reaching so high- later we used to drop other people's letters for them. It was such a joy to see the envelope slide into the mouth of the postbox- greedily- as if he wanted more! In today's age of emails and mobile phones no one bothers about sending snail mail. A couple of years back, Papa had visited the Post Office at Mumbai for some work. He rued the fact that it was populated by brash, fast talking people who were always in a hurry to get to the last of the waiting queue. I miss the languidness of the old Post Office and all that it stood for in my life.