Slow Post

I had been given a task by an NRI cousin to send her some ‘quintessentially Mumbai’ (I quote) junk jewellery. Now, these are items she wouldn’t have touched with a barge pole while she was still living in India, calling them too loud for her urban taste. Somehow, they seem to be the rage in the US and I was fulfilling an order for the entire state of Oklahoma and its neighbours.

I spend a whole day shopping and trudge to the nearest courier service to have then despatched.

‘Sorry ma’m we don’t do jewellery’ says the clerk not looking the least bit sorry.

‘It’s artificial, practically worthless’ I plead

‘Sorry ma’m, company policy’ says the clerk with a smile that was more annoying than a slap.

Off I go to the next one on the block, which was dubiously called ‘Pigeon Services’ or some such thing. Meet with the same response here too.

I wish someone would sympathise with me at least for the hours of hard work sunk into the noble cause of bridging the sartorial gap between two countries.

My quest finally takes me to the post office. I had managed nearly 10 years in this city without visiting a PO, and my record was just about to be broken.

I reach the PO to find it half shut. Sign painted on the wall says lunch break : 12 to 2:30

In a country that is in the throes of the 24X7 call centre fever, only a govt run PO can have a 2 ½ hour lunch break. I return at the stated hour of 2 30. Shutters are up, but the ‘speed post’ counter is still empty. There are 3 other counters that are staffed but without customers in front, so I request them to help me out. One handles money order while the other two don’t seem interested in replying, but speed post is definitely not on their list of tasks. So, I am stuck in front of the unmanned counter, wondering about the irony in the name ‘speed post’.

I wait. As I wait I look around. A harried customer, struggling with a blue jar of glue and what appears like a piece of broomstick dipped in the jar is trying to seal a document. Another is frantically trying to find a pen, to make a last minute change in the address. Not a single soul in the PO has a pen to help him. Another is searching for that one friendly staff who will help him find the pin code for a remote location in Madhya Pradesh.

By now a serpentine queue has formed behind me and has almost reached the door. To make matters worse, the person right behind me is breathing a combination of garlic and tobacco down my neck.

Finally at 2 50 the speed post clerk surfaces with a relaxed gait and not looking very pleased with this forced diversion from the pleasures of the past 2 ½ hours. It must be a good life to be a counter clerk at the Mumbai PO.

She seemed neither apologetic nor interested in me or my parcel. Which worked fine for me, because I dint have to worry about assuring her of the worth(lessness) of my purchase and why it should be transported immediately. She takes her time settling down in her seat, and the computer takes even longer to crank up, pure vintage, I gather from the looks of it( both computer and clerk).

She could really help herself by taking some typing lessons. After 20 minutes of hide-and-seek with the key-board, my address has been typed in, with at least 3 mistakes I could immediately spot. Now we come the crucial part –the receivers address. Here she can’t afford mistakes. After I spend another 20 minutes trying to spell, write and show the name and address, she’s done and I dare to check what she’s keyed in. She’s managed to make ‘Ann Nabar’ out of Anna nagar. If the postman at the other end delivers the parcel, it’s a miracle. I know the parcel is now destiny’s child.

My ordeal is not over yet. The parcel is weighed and I’m told to shell out 157 rupees and 90 paisa. They really don’t help themselves, these PO people. I would have gladly shelled out a well rounded 160 or even 200 rupees to finish the transaction and be a free being once again. Three copies of invoice are made with carbon paper in between. One goes into a tray, one the lady writes something on and the third is handed over to me.
Job done, I rush to the exit. As I do, I get a fleeting glimpse of the mission and vision statements of the Indian Postal Service, hanging on the wall, next of a picture of Mahatma Gandhi, the man who taught us 'Customer is King'.

MISSION :To provide high quality mail, parcel and related services in India and throughout the world ; to be recognized as an efficient and excellent organisation exceeding the expectations of the customers, employees and the society;

VISION: A socially committed organization connecting individuals and
businesses.

Well, at least I had the satisfaction of knowing they mean well, even though there are far from getting there.