Perils in the Post


Gargi Mehra

 

Kolkata, 1954

 

5th January, 1954

To
Shree Bhaskar Chowdhury,
Jhamatpur

Dear Sir:
As the new postman in your district I present myself humbly at your service. If you ever need any assistance over and above the regular duties I undertake, please call upon me or send for me and I will make myself available to you at once.

Your humble servant,

Mahesh Sen

#

14th March, 1954

Dear Father,

I hope you are well. My interview proceeded without any obstacles. I answered all the questions that the panel put to me with ease. Thanks are due to Mejo Mama, who supplied me with prospective questions. I had not prepared sufficiently for Boyle’s law or Euclid’s theorems, but he persuaded me to revise them last night. There was no current, but by light of the lantern I was able to read and imprint those fundamental concepts in my memory.

The interview was held at the Science College. The building was only about five storeys high, but its brick façade intimidated me a great deal, as if it would swallow me up and spit out the remains. I am not accustomed to setting eyes upon such large edifices in and around our village.

A note pinned up on the main bulletin board supplied the name of the hall where my abject humiliation would occur. As I followed the path outlined in scribbled arrows on the paper, I stared down at the mosaic tiles so that I did not have to talk to anyone. I passed empty classrooms, libraries, and foul-smelling washrooms from which the stench of urine stifled my breath.

I stopped at the lecture hall. One half of the double-door was ajar. I nudged open the other door.

At first I could see only the rows of empty benches in the auditorium. I turned towards the front of the hall, and saw three elderly gentlemen. They bore grave expressions that appeared to have been carved into their features at birth. Those aging professors had white hair sprouting out their ears. I am sorry that this sounds disrespectful but that is how they appeared. One of them had a heavy jowl and a birthmark resembling a dark tea-stain above his right brow. The most terrifying-looking of them said, “Yes?” His mouth hung like that of a bulldog, large and imposing, itching to bite the next student on his academic ankle

I swallowed my fear. “Is this the place for the interview to the college?”

To my surprise, the gentleman’s face relaxed, morphing from a bulldog to a terrier or a pooch. “You’re early. But come in. I am the Chairman.”

I thanked him and took a wooden chair facing the panel. The others were preoccupied, one of them shuffling papers and the other studying what I assumed were resumés of my rivals.

The Chairman said, “You’re early.”

I said, “I always make it a point to arrive earlier than the given time, sir. Time and tide wait for no man, my father and uncles taught me when I was very young.”

The Chairman smiled. The other two set their lips in thin smiles when I answered correctly. They were all pleased with my punctuality, and more so when I told them that I had accustomed myself to working in the fields, waiting for hours on end and counting down the minutes until the roosters came home.

The splotch-browed professor mentioned that the results would be out in two months’ time. By the time the intense heat of the summer descends upon us, I will have heard back from this prestigious institute.

I am loathe to say the words for fear that it may not come true, but it would be a great thing indeed for me to study at such a college. I learned from the other boys who had appeared for the interview that this was the most coveted place. I can only hope I have done enough good deeds over my last eighteen years as to earn a prestigious spot at this new temple of learning.

Your beloved son,

Sadhan

PS: I even saw a girl spouting differential calculus! That is not something you see in our village at all.

#

9th April, 1954

To
Mr. Sadhan Chakraborty,
Nadanghat

Dear Sir:

We are delighted to inform you that you have secured admission into the Indian Institute of Technology, Kharagpur for the 1954-55 academic year.

Please note that the admission is conditional upon your providing the certificates of your matric pass. We would also mandate a minimum percentage of sixty percent, i.e. first class and above.

Congratulations on your success. We hope to see you in our campus punctually on 5th June, 1954, to herald the start of the academic year.

Regards,

Dr. Bhabani Chattopadhyay
Director
Indian Institute of Technology Kharagpur

#

14th August, 1954

Dear Father,

Three months have passed and I have received no intimation from that institute. I can only conclude that I did not get selected at all.

I am extremely disappointed at this turn of events. My knowledge and study rituals remain unchanged. I continue to live with my uncles who comfort me and advise me to seek solace in my books. I have no choice but to accept admission in the other college. Who else will take me now? BHU is another mecca of learning, but I hear it is not IIT.

Moping in sorrow is the domain of the immature, hence I will not succumb to it as you have so wisely taught me all these years. I keep my chin up, but once in a little while my good mood dips. I feel distraught. The sadness engulfs me, but I lift myself up once more and thrust back into the world of daily living.

If you can please check with Mahesh-da about my letter I will be extremely grateful. Perhaps we had better send him a fresh batch of potatoes from our last crop. You know he might take offence if you do not keep him pleased. He favours the Chowdhurys, and if we do not placate him we may never see the fruits of our labour. My whole career hinges on this letter, Baba. I would beseech you to help your only son in this matter.

In her last letter Ma advised me to pray at the Kali mandir every Monday. Please inform her that I have already started doing so. I am unable to send her a separate letter, and hope my updates from you will suffice to let her know that I am fine.

Your beloved son,

Sadhan

#

To
Shree Bhaskar Chowdhury,
Jhamatpur

Dear Sir:

Shree Sadhan Roy received the letter confirming him admission to the new college IIT. As suggested by you, I have concealed it in a drawer behind my desk. Shyam was trying hard to rifle through my papers and uncover its presence. I thought he might discover the letter but my efforts bore fruit and he did not get his hands on it.

I also met Sadhan’s father Shree Himanshu Chakraborty on the way to the post office. He appeared quite haggard, his back bent under the weight of a sack that he’d tossed over one shoulder, but on seeing me, his face lit up and his back straightened. Just the man I wanted to see, he said.

He swung the sack of potatoes that he was carrying on his back, and presented it to me. Was he offering me a bribe? I believe he might have, for as soon as I accepted the gift he asked me if I had seen any letter for Sadhan, possibly from the IIT.

I offered my best hangdog expression, and said I hadn’t. He looked convinced, and did not question me further. Revenge tastes as sweet as the finest plums, Dada, and I savoured its sweetness that day. They snubbed my dearest Mohini. She was only trying to make friends with them when we first moved in town.

I don’t believe Shree Himanshu Chakraborty will offer me any more potatoes. Please advise if and when I can finally release the letter.

Your humble servant,

Mahesh Sen

#

Dear Father,

Banaras University is positively delightful! I had no idea before coming here how much I would enjoy myself.

The teachers are brilliant. They strive to ingrain basic concepts in our memory. Professor Sharma says if you remember the basics there is nothing more you need for the future. The physics formulas and the mathematics concepts have been carved deep into my brain and I will never forget them. He says that is all you need when you go for the interviews.

We have different mess facilities, one for each kind of food! There is Bengali, Punjabi, South-Indian – all kinds of delicious dishes prepared fresh and hot off the stove. The Maharaj instructs his cooks to make rotis and hand it to us fresh piping hot, steam still rising from its perfectly rounded edges. They call them ‘phulkas’ here, delicate round thin pieces fashioned from the finest wheat. I cried when I heard they didn’t serve rice every day, but after my first time eating their phulkas, I didn’t miss rice at all!

Please allay Ma’s fears that I have lost weight from eating almost nothing. On the contrary I seem to have gained quite a few kilograms since coming to the campus. Though I have not weighed myself, I did notice that my belly prevented my obtaining a fair view of my slippers the other day.

I continue to say my prayers at the Shiv mandir here. My Sardar roommate takes me to visit the Gurudwara on weekends, and I enjoy his company during lunch as well. I only wish he wouldn’t force me to help him wear his turban. He hands me one edge and makes me stand at the corner while he wraps the rest of it around his head. Before I witnessed this process I used to wonder how a regular piece of cloth no different from a dupatta could turn into a turban, but now I’ve seen it myself. This little knowledge pleases me. It also makes my grateful that I am not Sikh myself. With my clumsy hands I would only manage to wind it as a scarf around my head.

Your beloved son,

Sadhan

#

To
Shree Bhaskar Chowdhury,
Jhamatpur

Dear Sir:

I delivered the letter to his mother yesterday day, only three months after its intended date. I handed it to her with a flourish but that silly uneducated illiterate woman had no idea of how important the missive I’d given her was. She bade me wait in the courtyard, while she put through a trunk call to her boy. He must have told her to read out the contents and then explained it to her. She emerged from a side-room in a huff, the pallu falling from her head, handed me a small fee and sent me on my way.

As I have completed the task set out by you, I hope you will keep your side of the bargain and designate me officially as postmaster of the district.

Your humble servant,

Mahesh Sen

#

To

Shree Bhaskar Chowdhury,
Jhamatpur

Dear Sir:

I have received no response from you on my earlier letter. Please act upon it immediately. I long to become postmaster and take my dearest Mohini to bigger places where she can have servants wait on her hand and foot. My salary will also increase enough for me to afford the trinkets she so craves, and the clips she so desires for her luxurious hair.

I also desire to leave this place so I may abandon all manner of polite behaviour towards Shree Himanshu Chakraborty whenever I meet him. He directs a smile at me which seems to be one of pity. The last time we met, he informed me, though I did not ask him, that his son was studying in Banaras Hindu University and enjoying himself. This was not a consequence I had foreseen. It disheartens me that these people who had given such grief to my dearest Mohini suffered nothing at all for their disgraceful conduct.

Regardless of this unpleasant outcome, you will admit that I have completed the task set out by you to an absolute precision. I urge you to please keep your side of the bargain and designate me officially as postmaster of the district.

Your humble servant,

Mahesh Sen

#

To
Shree Bhaskar Chowdhury,
Jhamatpur

Dear Sir:

I admit to being excessively disappointed. I had visited your humble abode with the sole intention of demanding my rightful designation of postmaster, in lieu of services rendered. However a swift kick on my dhoti-covered backside was beneath even you. In your absence, that brute you call your crony dispensed shameful behaviour.

I am taking my dearest Mohini and leaving, to another district, another town, that will surely reward me for my services much better than you have cared to do.

No longer your humble servant,

Mahesh Sen

 


Gargi Mehra is a software professional by day, a writer by night, and a mother at all times. She writes fiction and humor in an effort to unite the two sides of the brain in cerebral harmony. Her work has appeared in Page & Spine, Tincture Journal, GlassFireBartleby Snopes, Literary Mama among other numerous literary magazines online and in print. She lives with her husband and two children in Pune, India. Her online home can be found at http://gargimehra.wordpress.com/ and she tweets as @gargimehra.

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