Posted with love

The monsoon rains had washed the red post box clean and made it appear freshly painted. As it hung casually, its colour stood out in the exuberantly green environs that housed it.  It had received only a dozen mails that day, two of which were regular; and the other, from the man with a thick moustache and fat black rimmed spectacles, to some bimonthly magazine in a far off town that he posted every other week. The other ten mails were posted by the same person, and looked like invitations to some occasion. The postman wasn’t due to pick them until the next day morning, it thought. It approved of the latest postman, who was a very punctual individual when it came to his duties. He promptly came cycling around, wearing his clean and crisp uniform, at the exact same time every alternate day to pick up the posts. He also oiled its lock and its creaking joints of the door once in two months, thought the post box fondly!

The post box was a historic one and it was hung from the oldest and tallest tree in the boulevard that ran between the town’s primary school and the town’s hospital, a little away from the bridge across the river dissecting the tiny town. Occasionally, when it grew tired of watching brightly coloured little birds building nests on the trees that swayed to the ceaseless winds that ran down these parts of the country, it reminisced about the day when it was inaugurated. The whole boulevard was ornately decorated with fresh flowers. People milled about everywhere, preparing the stage for some old important looking men to make speeches; it hadn’t understood its own significance, the way they did perhaps, something about marking the opening of postal services in that town. But it remembered feeling all important when the old man in white, who had given the driest lecture that day, came and dropped a mail in it, receiving a thunderous applause by the crowd for such a simple task. That was its first mail, in a brown large envelope with two orange stamps, the glue smelling of spoilt rice flour, and was bearing the address of a town it hadn’t heard of back then…

But since then, it had learnt the names of so many towns. Towns with weird spellings, towns which people always spelt wrongly, towns with forgettable names, towns that seemed strangely familiar, towns that sounded inviting, towns that sounded hostile... It had made a mental note of all the town names it had ever come across, and it was very proud of this accomplishment. It also had seen many more varieties of stamps since that day. However, a few stamps that it loved seeing had become a rare sight of late, with newer and fancier stamps taking their place. Not that it minded, of course, but just that it missed the old ones; like one would miss their good old friends, no matter how many new friends one makes. It had seen so many different kinds of envelopes too! And the glues they used to stick the mouth of the envelope kept getting better; the ones they used of late smelt much nicer, it thought with a sense of relief.

The sun had hid behind dense grey clouds; the clouds that brought sunshine to a farmer’s clouded mind, it reflected cheerfully. A loud bell rang in the school, breaking into its ponderings. Tiny tots started pouring out of the gates of the school, accompanied by their parents or grandparents. Invariably, all their uniforms looked soiled, though they went into the school in the morning wearing neat uniforms, with a square handkerchief pinned smartly to their pressed shirts. The post box loved watching these children. It had seen so many kids go to school on their first day, taking baby steps, or nestled in the arms of their proud and anxious family members. It had seen them howl their lungs out, had seen them giggle helplessly, and had seen the twinkle in their eyes, the joy and innocence of their childhood. It had seen many batches of students pass primary school and move to another school, the one on the other side of the river, by the big banyan tree.

As it watched the kids stroll home that day, chattering endlessly and pouring out the all important news of how their day was at school that day without noticing if they had any attentive listeners, it noticed one little boy walk silently, with his grandmother walking slowly beside him; it had seen the pair before and it knew the boy to be always upbeat, chatty and lively. Just as it was wondering what could be wrong with the boy, it observed the boy watching it, and was surprised to see him suddenly burst into a wide grin. He told his grandmother something and after a brief conversation, he convinced her to sit down in the shade of a nearby tree. She smiled at his childish excitement and reminded him to be quick as a downpour seemed imminent. He also sat down by the side of the street, and pulled out a book from his bag. With great caution, he pulled out the middle sheet from that book. He then took his pencil out of his pencil box. With his tongue sticking out in concentration, it saw him weave a letter in his juvenile language. After a good measure of time, he got up, and placed his pencil back into his pencil box. He then picked the sheet of paper and folded it as tidily as he could. His grandmother then lifted him off the ground, aiding him to reach the opening of the letter box, where he pushed the folded piece of paper and let it drop from his tiny fingers!

The post box was shocked. It had least expected a child of that age to be using a post box, let alone in such a way. It deliberated why the grandmother hadn’t instructed him to put the mail in an envelope, and stick a stamp before posting it. It saw them confusedly as they left, hand in hand, the kid bouncing and babbling again. It contemplated about this episode for some time but couldn't find any satisfying answers.

And then, the rain came. Flashes of lightning and thunder followed, causing the post box to forget all about it. The whole evening and night went uneventfully, thanks to the rain. Early next morning, the town’s doctor came for his morning walk leaning on his walking stick. He dropped a letter ordering a fresh stock of the medicines he needed for his clinic. A little later, the sun came up and the post box saw the town's milkman go past the bend near the school to distribute milk to the eastern parts of the town. The first bus of the day went past it, just after the street dogs retired to their nooks after a night of keeping vigil and causing noisy rackets on the streets. The kids started going to school one by one - the early birds, the ones that came at random times each day, the ones that always came at the exact same time, the ones that came with their half-awake heads nodding away, the ones that were dropped off on cycles, the ones that came with large lunch bags, the ones that came late invariably, the ones that cried each day in the morning when their parents left them at the gate and waved bye, the ones that forgot to wish their parents goodbye in their excitement of seeing their friends, the little ones, the tall ones, all of them. It kept a lookout for that boy that day, and saw from far, that the boy looked very cheerful and eager that morning. On his way to, the boy stopped by and said something to it that it didn’t understand. After the intense one sided conversation, the boy patted the post box, causing it to blush a deep crimson. It mutely saw him rush into the gate, waving bye to his grandmother, who then ambled back to her home.

A few hours later, the postman came. He was dressed as smartly as ever, but he looked deeply unhappy and worried that day. He fished out the keys from his pocket and opened the post box. Out came the thirteen letters, in  neatly sealed envelopes and one loose piece of paper. The postman was surprised. He scanned the paper to see if there was any address written anywhere, and was even more astonished to see just a big untidy “To Appa”, written a child’s scrawl. The post box saw the postman and wondered what he might do with it. It expected him to take the letter to the post office and deal with it there. But when he looked at it for such a long time, and eventually unfolded the piece of paper, it realised that he was about to read it and felt outraged that he was doing something so against his usual dutiful nature.

It read:

“Appa, I am sorry. I like you. I will not ask why I do not have a mother. Or when she will come. I do not want a brother. I do not want a sister also. Do not be angry. I will not cry again. I will be a good boy. Ajji is here with me. I have told her to also be good. I like Ajji. Rain will come. I will go home now and wait for you. Tell me a story. No, two stories. Bye Appa.”

It noted how his face grew softer as he read the letter and how at the end of it, he broke into a smile that made him appear far younger than he probably was. He then swiftly cycled away in a different direction from the one he would generally take.

After a couple of hours, just when the post box had finished memorizing two of the four new town names it had seen on the mails it had received that day, it noted the postman return. It started panicking, wondering how it would memorize the other two names so quickly! But it was just as relieved as it was curious to find that he didn’t seem to have come for the mails; he didn’t even wear his uniform, and looked very different in plain clothes! He parked his bicycle outside the gates of the school. In a short while, the school bell rang. The little boy who had dropped the letter dashed straight to the postman and hugged him tightly. The postman produced a chocolate from his pocket and gave it to the boy, who relished it with immense pleasure. The postman gazed at his child for a long time, and then, with the child seated in front of him on his bicycle, pedalled away.

It was almost night time, when the post box heard the bicycle bell ringing. It was then, in the dim street light of the boulevard, that it saw the postman cycling down the boulevard, the child seated in the front and an animated puppy peeping out of his bag, soaking in the journey. The post box felt warm, even in the chilly monsoon night, just as it saw the trio pass by, looking peaceful and satisfied.