Postmanly...

Ashutosh Rana filled our hearts with the fear of the postman. But much before this fear was ingrained in our psyche that fellow wearing a khaki uniform pedaling his way through the numerous alleyways of our town had very unexpectedly been the carrier of one incident which I so wanted to hide from my dad. Such was the magnitude of his back-stabbing that from that day onwards I was forced to denounce this act in a single word which was to be an adjective. That adjective was "postmanly (adj) : of devious intent".

I have never been of the athletic bent. If the proverb says "think twice before you leap", I would rather prefer to think thrice and not leap at all. Having said that it would not be much difficult for people to conjure up a image of me all of 10 years old, pedaling my Hero Ranger up an incline and really baffled as to why there should be an incline on the road when the earth was round. I consoled myself by saying that maybe there would be an equal decline at the diametrically opposite end of this due to which the earth could still retain its roundness against such odds.

While I was battling with my wits to keep the earth round, there from the corner of my eye I caught a blur of something coming my way. I was late to react which by now I was used to and the next thing I knew was that the earth was no longer round, infact it seemed to have a shapelessness which later I would equate to an amoeba in class 9. Distant voices came to me and as the oriented myself to the din, I realized that the blur which I had seen only a second ago was an old Atlas Goldline Super which now had mangled in with my Hero Ranger. I was on the ground, my white uniform a mess. I looked around for the rider of the Atlas Goldline Super, but he was nowhere to be seen. I craned my neck upwards and there he was standing with an evil smile on his face, his uniform not a bit crumpled for I guessed he had shown the right amount of agility at the right time to land on his feet away from the collision which was very much unlike me. A crowd was beginning to form around the scene as I got up and in the most innocent way conveyed my utmost apologies to the postman who was having a devious laugh on his face.

He did not have much time to waste and he departed soon after firing me with some of his choicest abuse which at that age I was not in a position to comprehend. Any further damage was nullified as the collision had caused a traffic snarl and the people behind were anxious to go off than to indulge in a 10 yr old mix up!!! As I continued my homeward journey, the soreness of the entire incident started to grow on me. There were a few bruises here and there and a dirty uniform to foot.

The remainder of the journey home was slow. I no longer bothered about the cursed roundness of the earth, infact I quickly built a narrative which would explain the day's event without giving anything away. Having played and replayed the narrative in my mind a hundred times, tying up loose ends, I still felt there was one thing which I had not really factored and that thing opened the door which I rang the doorbell. That thing was my sister.

I have always found a close relation between the word 'sister' and 'sinister' and my experience had made me realize that the elder they are the more sinister they become. True to her inquistive nature the next 10 mins where the most demanding where my story was questioned, re-questioned, re-re-questioned and finally the matter was put to rest when Mom announced that this will be discussed at the dinner table.

At the dinner table, sister's interference was overruled and my story stood the test of parental scrutiny!!!! The story I cooked up was so overwhelmingly perplexing that I am sure that both my Mom and Dad let go of it by the time we were through with our first chapatis!!!! So I thought that it was the end of it. The collision was to remain a mystery to my sister all her life and I would grow old with the contentment that it was only me (apart for the postman and a few passer-bys) who would know what really transpired that afternoon.

Each passing day the spot which witnessed the collision grew in iconic status in my mind until I decided that one day I will come back here and build a little something which will commemorate the day I had won at the dinner table!!!! But it was not to be...

On the 8th day after the memorable victory at the dinner table, I was pillion on our scooter carrying a few groceries with Dad waiting to cross the road and there out of nowhere he appeared. I did not recognize him at first, but he sure did and shot me a wide grin. I froze. He negotiated his Atlas Goldline Super through the motley of vehicles and aligned himself parallel to our scooter. His gaze was still on me. He turned towards my dad, ignoring my pleading eyes and said, "काय Sir , कशे आहात? " (Hello Sir, How are you doing?). Without waiting for my Dad to reply he fired his salvo, "पोरगा पडला होता तुमचा त्यादिवशी सायकल वरून, ८ दिवस झाले आता!!!",(your son fell off his bicycle that day. Been 8 days now) and he guffawed like I have never heard anybody guffaw before. Almost on cue to that guffaw the traffic made way and we crossed the road. Dad did not have time to reply to him, but then what would he have said. The postman never really wanted a reply. His only intention was to convey and have the last guffaw!!!!! He had succeeded!!!!

I had lost my appetite for dinner. Dad had narrated the scene back home and my 'sinister'..oops sister had a look of triumph in her eyes!!!!

I don't remember what everybody talked about at the dinner table but I do remember that I cursed the 'postmanly' attitude of that postman!!!!



(P.S: this is the 100th post on my blog!!! I have taken time to get that 100th post but you really can't force it out of it each time can you?? :)