It Happened at Bandra Post Office....

Wednesday, October 24, 2018
Bombay

It Happened at Bandra Post Office....

     Namaste from Bombay!

A Rant To Start Things Off!
     In Bombay, it is the little things that stress you out. Once you get accustomed to what I think of as "chronic" inconveniences (humidity, traffic, crowds, impolite people, general lack of consideration for others), there are little things that irritate and annoy.
      Take our attempt to use a credit card to make an advance payment to secure a reservation on a hotel. It was a Herculean task, to say the least.  My friend Nafisa, her husband Hosefa and I are planning week-long travels in Orissa before we arrive in Calcutta (where I need to present a paper at a conference).
     We actually have sorted out accommodation for ourselves at a hotel in Puri, a beach resort, which we will make our base while we visit Puri, Bhubaneshwar, Lake Chilka, Konark and Raghuram--this area is rich in ancient Hindu temples and beautiful unspoiled natural scenery.
      The hotel actually belongs to folks that I know (vaguely) but the Nasrullas know well.  And yet...and yet...there are so many complications associated with paying by credit card. "Sorry Madam, we do not have facility to accept offline credit card." And "Sorry Madam, but when we send the link to pay by credit card, there is a deadline--you must pay by the specified date or else the link does not work" and "Sorry Madam, but you cannot give me credit card details on the phone because we must generate an OTP number"--whatever the heck that is! And so it went on for three days--Hosefa was back and forth and back and forth on the phone until the Nasrullas were tearing hairs off in frustration. Then I stepped in. I had the same runaround.
     Finally, yes, magically, the correct link with the correct advance payment money was delivered to my email box and I actually managed to put the payment through and get an instant confirmation. But it took a good part of my morning to get this sorted--not to mention several small parts of the last few days.

At the Gym and After:
     My day began as usual at 5.30am with a bit of blogging and emailing. Then, I dressed and went off to the gym where I usually read The Times of London or continue with my novel on my IPad which I carry along.  Have begun A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara which was recommended to me by the English novelist Jane Greene when I had met her at the Pequot Library years ago. I found it as a book that was available and that I could borrow from my Fairfield Public Library to download on my IPad.  However, I am having trouble getting into it--doesn't really appear to be my kind of novel.  Still, I am not giving up yet.
     My workouts at the gym are going well but for the fact that I hate how loudly they set the music and the kind of music they play--a lot of rap, a lot of rock--not my cup of tea at all. But in a gym setting, I guess majority wins. Still, I try to bury myself in my reading and unless the music is oppressively loud, I tolerate it and do not request it to be turned down.
     Yesterday, after the gym, I went straight to Dad's as Hosefa needed my PAN card to make a train booking for us. Apparently, getting the tickets is another Herculean task and they have decided to pass the entire task to a travel agent who will do all our bookings. I am glad that I am not organizing this trip and have left it to my local friends. Hopefully, they know what they are doing and will do it well.  All I have done is book my air tickets from Bombay to Bhubaneswar and from Calcutta back to Bombay by Indigo Airlines (such a great name for a domestic Indian airline!).
     I picked up my PAN card, visited with Dad and Russel briefly--I wanted to get back home soon as I was still only on a cup of coffee and could not wait to eat my breakfast. However, Dad had his own tale of woe to narrate--his frustrations trying to get diapers delivered to his home for Russel who is still bed bound. You will not believe the number of calls he had to make to get this little task accomplished--and then too they delivered the wrong size. I realize that it is these little things that cause people stress in India--the sort of things that do not even occur as irritations for us in the US.

Receiving my US Absentee Ballot Form in the Mail:
      Russel then informed me that a letter had arrived for me. I immediately knew what it was. I raced to find it and gave a resounding YESSSS! Dad wondered what was up and looked at me in bewilderment. I told him that my US absentee ballot form for the November mid-term elections had arrived.  I had been asking Llew to find out from my local Fairfield Town Hall if they had mailed it to me as I wondered why it had not arrived yet.  When I had lived in London, it had arrived by early October.  Well, the Indian postal system leaves a lot to be desired...let me assure you. So, I expect the delays are more local than American. Anyway, given the paucity of time, I knew I would have to fill it out and get to the Bandra Post Office today itself if I wished to have my vote counted.

Back at my Laptop...
        Back home, I showered, ate my muesli while watching House Hunters International (Barcelona) exactly as I do back home in Southport, Connecticut, and then sat down with my laptop.  I finalized our hotel booking at Puri, my hotel booking at the Fairlawns Hotel in Calcutta (the Nasrullas will be staying with local relatives in Calcutta) and then took care of work email.
     Next, I transcribed the interview I did with Celeste--which took two whole hours. I wanted to start with the transcribing of the one I did with Xerxes but I needed to stretch my back and take a break.
     Lunch had been delivered in the morning but I still had leftovers--so I finished putting my fresh lunch away and washing off the tiffin containers.  It still amazes me with what foresight I brought six Tupperware containers with me from the US--they are proving invaluable as containers for my own food delivery service in my fridge. But then I learned how valuable they had been to me when I had lived in London. I only regret that I did not bring some more.
     Lunch done, I did a bit of reading but my eyes were simply closing and I had a power nap. When I awoke, I filled out my US ballot form, dressed and found a rickshaw to take me to Bandra Post Office as it was already 3.45 and I expected them to close by 5.00 pm.
   And what a story that turned out to be! So let me explain....

My Experience at Bandra Post Office:
       There was no one at the window that was supposed to dispense stamps. So I went to the next window where a lady was desultorily attending to about 6 people who were waiting in an orderly queue. I asked, in English, if someone could be sent to the Stamps Window to sell me stamps, please. She said something to someone (out of my field of vision) but there was no response.
     Then, a sweet lady came to me and said, "They do not respond at all.  You will need to go inside." Inside where? I found a door that led into the main room which was the most disorderly place I have ever seen--it was as if a tornado had blown through it.
     I found a "postman type" near the door. So I said to him in English, "Excuse me Sir, can someone sell me some stamps, please?" He took one look at me and thought I was a foreigner.  It had to do with the fact that I spoke English only (deliberately), called him Sir and wore the clothes I do--a T-shirt, capri pants and Clarks sandals (my uniform causal wear in Bombay).
     He directed me to the Post Master who was tinkering with a computer. I went up to him and said, "Excuse me Sir...are you the Post Master?" He said, "Yes" without taking his eyes off his screen. I said, "Would you tell someone to sell me some stamps, please?" He looked at me then and told a woman to help me.
     I swear to you, she looked like she cleaned for a living. She certainly did not look like a bonafide employee of the Indian postal service. She also looked aged and I wondered how she was still employed--she looked easily above 58 (retirement age) although it is very likely that the cares of living in India had aged her prematurely. She did not speak English but I insisted on keeping up the foreigner farce as I thought that was the only way I would get my work done.  This was big time impersonation at its most deceptive!
     So, she told me to go back to the Stamps Window which I did. Through the grill, I watched her haul out a massive tome with a few stamps on each page. She told me it would cost me Rs. 45 to mail my letter to the US. Fair enough. I fished out the money from my purse and handed it to her.
     She then gave me, I kid you not, 45 stamps of Re. 1 each. I was aghast.  I showed her the letter and asked her where she thought my 45 stamps would fit on it. She shrugged and said in Marathi that she did not have stamps of a bigger denomination. She then asked me if I had any stamps!!!! But I was there to buy stamps! How would I have "tickets" with me--her word for stamps. When I insisted on fewer stamps of a smaller denomination, she said, We have none. Come Tomorrow--still in Marathi.
     Of course, I marched back inside and complained to the Postman Type. He apologized and said she was right--no stamps are being delivered to their post office anymore. That was all they had. He turned the envelope over and told me to place the stamps on the "backside". I told him there was something printed on the back that needed to be read. Now it was his turn to shrug.
     Believe me, I felt as if I were in a comedy routine--Laurel and Hardy or Abbot and Costello or The Two Ronnies!
     He told me that it WAS possible to fit them all above the printed matter. He handed me a paste pot--ugh!!!-- and told me to go and sit at a table and paste them on.
     Well, with no choice in the matter, I actually did use the obnoxious paste pot and actually managed to fit all 45 stamps on my envelope--with no room to spare on it at all. I insisted that the postman stamp it and place it in the Outgoing box before I left. I can just imagine what sort of a laugh everyone at the Fairfield Town Hall will have when my envelope reaches them as well as the sort of laugh they will have in the Sorting Room of the Fairfield Post Office before delivering my vote sheet. I now wish I had taken a picture of my envelope to preserve for posterity. I hope my country will appreciate the sort of hoops I jumped through to get my vote in. I feel like a proper virtuous citizen now!
      I then went around thanking every one personally in the Post Office that had helped me buy Rs. 45 worth of stamps. I had entered the Bandra Post Office to buy stamps and I felt as if I had landed on the moon--so huge did my accomplishment appear!
     Wait till I tell Dad about my experience there.  He is going to tell me that is precisely why the Indian postal service is in jeopardy and why no one uses it anymore--courier service is used exclusively now as an alternative for local mailings. For international post, one has little choice but to use the post office as international courier service is too expensive an alternative. So I swear to you again...it happened at the Bandra Post Office.
     Since I was on Hill Road,  I then walked to the Holy Family Hospital as Dad had requested me to pick up a copy of Russel's biopsy which was the one report that was missing. Dad might need it for insurance purposes--he hopes they will not demand to see it. I paid Rs. 20 for a duplicate report and left. I needed to get home to wash my hands off that noxious paste and I was craving an urgent cup of tea.

Off to Observe a Vocal Music Lesson:
     Filled with the cup that cheers (make that a pot!), I left my flat again. This time I was headed to St. Joseph's Convent Primary School to observe a vocal music class in session. I was invited by Celeste, the music teacher that I had interviewed yesterday, to watch her and her daughter Dawn conduct the class for kids in two batches--the younger ones at 5. 30 pm and the older at 6. 15 pm. It was fun and gave me a good understanding of the manner in which Western music awareness and exposure passes down from one generation to the next in the Christian community in a "locality" (neighborhood) like Bandra. Dawn was at the piano while Celeste played teacher. The children (about 30 of them in each batch) were lively and animated and deeply interested in their class. They were enthused throughout and sang well.  The older ones were, understandably, much better and more attuned to what Dawn was trying to achieve from them.  They started with vocal scales and then made their way through the song they were learning. I wished I could have stayed longer but I had to make the 6.45 Novena in church and I did not want to be late.

Church and Dinner:
      I jumped into a conveniently passing rickshaw and reached church on time for the novena after which I stayed for the 7.00 pm Mass.  I walked home with Dad but we parted company when I had to go to the office of the man who installed my fiberoptic cable for my internet as I had to pay him the rest of the money I owed.  That done, I went directly home.
     I had my dinner--my new tiffin featured a delicious green chicken curry (I love a green curry as it is flavored with coriander leaves and mint), a vegetable made of dal and white pumpkin (I also love white pumpkin) and cutlets. For dessert, there was half a guava. I feel blessed that I have this meal service.  The food is always plentiful and delicious and it is so convenient as it eliminates the need for me to shop for ingredients, cook, clean, etc. Now after a day of frustrations, here I was feeling thankful for something that does actually work in Bombay!
     I watched Midsomer Murders while I ate. It was about 9.45 when my eyelids started to droop and I decided to make an early night of it.  I brushed and flossed my teeth and slipped into bed.
     It had been a very odd sort of day crowned by my comedic turn at the post office!
     Until tomorrow...