Skip to main content

Playing Post-Man (Girl?) for the Post-Man!




"Post!" 

Every month, my thrilled ten-year-old self would glide down the stairs two-at-a-time, beckoned by this call. The Post-Man, standing at the entrance to the quarters that we then lived in, would hold the monthly issue of the childrens' magazine I had subscribed to, with a beaming smile on his face. 

"Thank you uncle!" I'd exclaim gleefully, as I receive it from him. 
He'd smile affectionately at me, as he stood there organising the remaining bundle.

Being the curious child I was, I'd peep into the stack of posts, trying to find any which were addressed to my friends or to the people in the same block. If I happened to spot any of them from the said category, I'd offer to deliver them on his behalf. 

The Post-Man uncle would then with a grateful smile, hand over the respective posts to me, as he sped on his way with a, "Thank you very much, Paapa!"

I would then proceed to diligently face the task ahead of me, (which was honestly just another excuse to bother my friends and visit my neighbours, and sometimes to make new friends), to deliver the posts addressed to them. It also made me joyous, having helped ease someone's tedious work, which left me feeling like I've done something good that day. Having delivered all the posts, I'd happily head home to the magazine waiting to be read. 

Today, most of my subscriptions have become digital. My letters have evolved into instant messages and e-mails. There's high ease of access, timely delivery, and cost-efficiency. 

And yet, the small joy of holding the magazine and inhaling its scent, after a month of waiting, is absent. That unique bond of affection between the Post-Man and I, is lacking. And most of all, I miss playing Post-Man to the houses in the neighborhood, which made my ten-year-old self feel important and welcome, when the recipients smiled and thanked me as I delivered their posts. 

The thrill that, "Post!" invokes in me remains yet irreplaced by e-mails and instant messages.

-Pavithra Seshadri

Image courtesy: Google Images

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The First Song I Fell in Love With

I was around three at that time. Amma and Appa used to go by train to work. My kindergarten school was near the railway station, and at a walkable distance from home. Amma would leave earlier, so most of the times Appa (and sometimes my Uncle and Aunt), would take me, (and my cousin), to school and then board the train later. I would mostly occupy the last bench in the class, because from the window at the back of the room, the railway station could be seen and I would wave to my dad from there, and he would wave back as he boards the train.  Whenever Appa used to take me to school, he would try to keep me engaged in a conversation to take my mind off the distance (which was only around 1 km, but to my three year old self it seemed like a never ending journey.) So, he used to teach me rhymes, songs, or speak to me of some stories from his childhood. It was during one of those walks that he introduced a song to me, he would sing and ask me to repeat it, and then explain th...
2 comments
Read more

Sound of Moonlight

The lights begin to dim, as she walks in; Draped in silver threads, is her glowing skin. Like the quivering butterfly wings, Her eyelids flutter close, as she sings. Her voice resounds across the sky, Holding the triumph of a child’s first cry. The song is filled with joy and mirth, Like the music of a flower’s birth. So softly, the melody flows, Rustling their feathers as the nightingales doze. Enchanted by her beautiful beam, The stars around her blush and gleam. As she walks along the aisle, The waves rise to watch her smile. She sounds like the thrill of bedtime stories, And like laughter, free of worries. Like the curiosity in a child’s eyes, Like mischiefs and innocent lies. Like the mysteries that hide in the dark, Like the joyous cries of the skylark. She echoes the soft breaths of kids, As sleep begins to caress their eyelids. She voices the longing of lovers and their wistful sighs, As a ray of hope brightens the skies. The world is lost in the beauty of her song, Until anoth...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Thread of Hope

The path ahead stretches dark,  Where the monster awaits eagerly! Hold your sword in an iron grip And tighter yet, this thread, oh warrior thee! As you unfurl the string, behold this elaborate maze,  Where beginning and end are lost to sight, Built to confuse, trap, and devour the naive, Be certain to hold on with all your might! Step into it with your head held high, Do not be scared, for the beast senses fear! Bravery, the true weapon of a warrior, Hold it in your heart as you draw near! There, listen, the roar of the beast! Even as your blood freezes in fright, Oh Warrior, remember to never turn back! Hold on to your sword, and prepare to fight! As the fiend spots you and draws closer, With glowing eyes, dark as Death's, Soldier thee, never surrender, Hold your gaze as you glimpse at its depths! There a tear, here a slash, charge ahead And battle the beast clawing at you! When pain creeps in and blood gushes out,  Hold on, the way out is through! When the b...
Post a Comment
Read more