The Red Letter Day
"I am sorry- No letter for you even today"- said Mr Sampath, raising his shoulders to indicate indifference.
"Ah! Are you sure?" I asked in a submissive tone.
Sampath, my colony postman, was a man in mid forties. On most of the occasions, I spotted a Tilak on his forehead, and on the days when the Tilak was missing, I found him puffing a cigarette while on duty! The Cigarette, the Tilak, his thick glasses, the bundle of letters and bicycle had formed a very interesting character for me.
"How much time does it take for a letter to come from Bombay?"- I asked in an impatient tone.
"What could have possibly gone wrong"- I pondered
I was disappointed, yet again!
Slowly, the Maggie Club rage met its natural death and it reached a stage when most of us didn't knew what to do with the membership cards! And by then, I had already developed a tremendous interest in something else and began working towards it.
It was the most important phase of my life because, I was beginning to receive letters, that were addressed exclusively to my name". And it conveyed a little sense of supremacy, an indication of immature conceitedness and also a tremendous motivation to do more! This was the chief reason for a Postman to become an important aspect of my life.
"I'd be getting 30 Rupees if I manage to get this done" - I told my mother
"So far I have sent 4 letters, I am confident at least one of them will work out"- I said ecstatically.
Weeks rolled into months, but I never received any letter from the expected source.
"Any letters for me"- I asked, panting hard.
" Yes"- he said while the cigarette was still in his mouth.
" Wow, did you give it at my place"- I said this and was gearing up to run.
I was disappointed yet again. I assumed that Sampath was lying. I got angry and said this to him. He laughed at my innocence.
"Ok, why don't you go through the bundle" - He offered me.
Dejected, I trotted home wards thinking that I'd never get any response from them. I discussed this with a few of my friends who said its not to easy and gave me some kind of dramatic explanations to prove their point home. All they wanted to convey was that its very tough to get a response.
I was feeling low and disappointed. I had spent money on stamps, I boasted that one day, I'd definitely show everyone what I am capable of, I gave false hopes to my mother by telling her that she'd see me earning some 30-50 odd rupees out of this, Back at school, I also managed to get an appreciation from my English teacher, who openly declared me as a benchmark student! All this pompous celebrations, before getting any kind of reply for my letter.
This guilt was killing me and I knew I'd be a laughing stock among my friends and school, if I don't get any response very soon.
One day I was returning home on my bicycle, I had to pass under the Railway bridge. I spotted Sampath in the opposite side. He was through his duty and was leaving for the day. And both of us were waiting for the moving train to pass-by the bridge.
When I was a kid, I thought the reason why people waited for the train to pass-by on the bridge was that they fear that the train might fall down on them. But my growing years taught me that, its not the train, but something that is heavier and deadlier than the train that'd fall on us if we attempt to cross a Railway bridge with a passing train!!
I sensed something jubilant! I reached home and was delighted to finally receive that letter! I smelt it first and carefully opened it. I read the contents of the letter slowly and felt as if my legs were in the air! Finally.... Finally, I got a response after a series of attempts!
I read it again and unable to control the excitement, I ran out to show it to my friends and celebrate the victory which I had lost!
(In October 1992, I received a letter from India Book House- Uncle Pai, the editor of the fortnightly magazine called Tinkle. He rejected - my contribution "Shikari Shambu" the story of a fluke Hunter who always manages to win despite his timid personality. Nevertheless, in his letter, UnclePai encouraged me to continue writing more and more stories so that one day it gets published in Tinkle.
I viewed this experience as a defeat for my Personality, but a Victory for my Development. This story is my tribute to it).
© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.
"Ah! Are you sure?" I asked in a submissive tone.
"Yes, I just have one for Mr Shah and this telegram for your neighbor, Major Dubey. That's all!" - He said while parking his bicycle in front of a house.
Sampath, my colony postman, was a man in mid forties. On most of the occasions, I spotted a Tilak on his forehead, and on the days when the Tilak was missing, I found him puffing a cigarette while on duty! The Cigarette, the Tilak, his thick glasses, the bundle of letters and bicycle had formed a very interesting character for me.
"How much time does it take for a letter to come from Bombay?"- I asked in an impatient tone.
Sampath spoke very fast and most of the occasions, I could barely comprehend his speech. And this time, he muttered something, which may have meant an approximate turn around time. He then went into a house to deliver a letter.
"What could have possibly gone wrong"- I pondered
I was disappointed, yet again!
It was also the period when the kids of our colony boasted about "The Maggie Club Membership Card". All we needed to do was collect 5 wrappers of Maggie 2 Minute Noodles and send them to a New Delhi address, within a fortnight you'd receive either an indoor game or a wrist band or a Notepad and the like. And by overdoing it, you'd be finally issued a "Maggie Clubber" an attractive membership card. I still remember the name of the Club chairman- Someone by name Doodle Dee.
I grew jealous with some of my close friends who flaunted their membership cards, and conveyed their sense of pride. Very soon, I outnumbered them by managing to secure 3 cards and some special gifts from Doodle Dee. The day I received my first membership card, I tore the envelope right before Sampath, took out the card, and excitedly explained him about the Maggie Club. He was mighty impressed and said he will buy some pack of Maggie Noodles while going home!
Slowly, the Maggie Club rage met its natural death and it reached a stage when most of us didn't knew what to do with the membership cards! And by then, I had already developed a tremendous interest in something else and began working towards it.
It was the most important phase of my life because, I was beginning to receive letters, that were addressed exclusively to my name". And it conveyed a little sense of supremacy, an indication of immature conceitedness and also a tremendous motivation to do more! This was the chief reason for a Postman to become an important aspect of my life.
"I'd be getting 30 Rupees if I manage to get this done" - I told my mother
"Oh Really! That's very good" But are you sure they will accept"- She asked me while looking around my room.
"So far I have sent 4 letters, I am confident at least one of them will work out"- I said ecstatically.
Weeks rolled into months, but I never received any letter from the expected source.
One evening, while I was playing on my friend's terrace, I heard the neighbor's dog barking downstairs. I looked down and saw Sampath, as usual, struggling to deliver a letter, without damaging himself from the Pomeranian breed dog. He always had a problem with that dog and tried to shoo it away. After he succeeded in his mission, I rushed down to meet him.
"Any letters for me"- I asked, panting hard.
" Yes"- he said while the cigarette was still in his mouth.
" Wow, did you give it at my place"- I said this and was gearing up to run.
"Yes, but its from your dad" and I gave that letter to your mother."- He said this at ease without realizing that he just tore my excitement into bits paper!
I used to write letters to my dad, who used to live in some other part of India because of his routine transfers. The letter to my dad contained academic marks, my drawings, about my school life and also the list of things, which I wanted him to get for me( but very reasonable demands!)
I was disappointed yet again. I assumed that Sampath was lying. I got angry and said this to him. He laughed at my innocence.
"Ok, why don't you go through the bundle" - He offered me.
I eagerly groped into that bundle, and found letters from Reader's Digest Magazine, some inland letters, postcards with Gujarati language on them, some ugly Book posts, letters from companies to its Shareholders etc. I never understood it then. But if I were to speak about that today, those letters gave an insight about the kind of people who resided in my colony!
Dejected, I trotted home wards thinking that I'd never get any response from them. I discussed this with a few of my friends who said its not to easy and gave me some kind of dramatic explanations to prove their point home. All they wanted to convey was that its very tough to get a response.
I was feeling low and disappointed. I had spent money on stamps, I boasted that one day, I'd definitely show everyone what I am capable of, I gave false hopes to my mother by telling her that she'd see me earning some 30-50 odd rupees out of this, Back at school, I also managed to get an appreciation from my English teacher, who openly declared me as a benchmark student! All this pompous celebrations, before getting any kind of reply for my letter.
This guilt was killing me and I knew I'd be a laughing stock among my friends and school, if I don't get any response very soon.
One day I was returning home on my bicycle, I had to pass under the Railway bridge. I spotted Sampath in the opposite side. He was through his duty and was leaving for the day. And both of us were waiting for the moving train to pass-by the bridge.
When I was a kid, I thought the reason why people waited for the train to pass-by on the bridge was that they fear that the train might fall down on them. But my growing years taught me that, its not the train, but something that is heavier and deadlier than the train that'd fall on us if we attempt to cross a Railway bridge with a passing train!!
Sampath on the other side, tried to tell me something which I couldn't hear because of the train noise. After the train left, he pedalled his bicycle and asked me to go home quickly. Before I could shout to ask what the matter was, he was already out of ear shot.
I sensed something jubilant! I reached home and was delighted to finally receive that letter! I smelt it first and carefully opened it. I read the contents of the letter slowly and felt as if my legs were in the air! Finally.... Finally, I got a response after a series of attempts!
I read it again and unable to control the excitement, I ran out to show it to my friends and celebrate the victory which I had lost!
(In October 1992, I received a letter from India Book House- Uncle Pai, the editor of the fortnightly magazine called Tinkle. He rejected - my contribution "Shikari Shambu" the story of a fluke Hunter who always manages to win despite his timid personality. Nevertheless, in his letter, UnclePai encouraged me to continue writing more and more stories so that one day it gets published in Tinkle.
I viewed this experience as a defeat for my Personality, but a Victory for my Development. This story is my tribute to it).
© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.
