Wonderfull post office

We're all very adept at criticising the indian postal service, - how our letters never reach on time, how by the time they reach, vajpayee has already finished his speech (whats up with that dude, btw? why does it seem like his mind runs on a P1 processor with 1/2 kb ram?), how their visits to our houses are rarer than Santa Claus' coming (I said coming, not cumming, you pervert!). However, instead of criticising them, we're gonna enumerate the advantages that they provide to the poor in the villages.

And if you known us well enough, you wouldn't believe the drivel above. Coz as sure as samosa mein hain aloo, circus mein hai bhalu, mukesh ambani hain chalu, south india mein hain mallu and something-something main hain zallu, we're going to town on their asses!
l had the unfortunate privelege of having to visit the neighborhood postoffice recently and l found that they've taken a cue from the recent munnabhai movie. Theres gandhigiri everywhere. The more knowledgeable of our readers would know that the essence of fighting using gandhigiri involves the use of non-violence as well as non-cooperation.

Anyhoo, so there was a lot of non-cooperation going on at the post office, the paint was not cooperating with the walls, giving the latter a delicate contrast between a strong yellow paint probably done during the Moghul empire of Shah Jahan and the next coat of a dementing pista green which I'm sure was in vogue when painted during the early days of the British Raj, probably by surplus from the East India Company. The inadvertant mix of textures and colours were so very subtle, so smooth, so delicate that they'd give even manish malhotra a run for his homosexuality!

The calendar on the wall didn't seem to be very productive especially since the days of the month of July that it so proudly displayed don't really correspond to the days of november, which it was!

lf this was a theme party, my first guess for what the theme was would be "sadistic sadism spanking and bondage". The queues were longer than Himesh Reshammiya's nasal introductions to his songs! Truly, the only way this situation could get worse is if the postmaster went around in a tight leather outfit with a small window that exposed his rump, boots with stirrups and with a paddle and spanked us as we stood in line.

If the indian postal service had a middle name, it would be "inefficiency". Apparently they also love a good challenge. This could be the only explanation as to why the ony person who knew how to operate the speed-post computer was sitting at the registered-post counter clipping her fingernails and providing oral tech-support while the incompetent sitting at the speed-post counter demonstrated a live example of stupidity-meets-bitch persona. She was so stupid that seeing her in action, or inaction rather cannot but force you to believe that human evolved from apes. It's just that avfew select people haven't got the requisite promotions along the eolutionary ladder. She wasn't stuck at the ape stage though, her species was stranded midway between a water buffalo and a wild parakeet. (Her ability to stop all work and complain to her unusually idle coworker, who was deely involved digging her nose in a last-ditch attempt to discover a nugget or two of gold, about how difficult it was to understand what Ba wanted from Tulsi in Kyunki...combined with her screeching voice which would have put the shouting bangaar walla, the night time kulfi walla and the idliwalla in collective shame, left me with no doubt about her parrot roots in her genetic map.)

The kind lady, however, at the stamps counter was being very productive that day - I mean between her job of telemarketing/flirting on her handsfree and the horrific shade of purple nailpolish (trust me, even big bird on Sesame Street would have an stroke if u asked her to wear this color! and big bird's got the worst taste ever!) she managed to find time to give me two stamps.

This brings me to a joke that was played on me when I was little. I was an avid stamp collector and I had bought almost all the stamps the post office had! Now whenever one of my school friends asked me if I wanted a stamp, an affirmative reply would usually have his heavy leather shoe come down smartly on my foot - his funny version of a stamp. This often left me wishing that the sonofabitch collected rare 'kicks-in-the-nuts'... oh boy, would I have a field day!

So you're probably waiting with baited breath, wondering if agent007 succeeded in his mission to send his communique, right? (No? Well, your momma so fat that when she wears a jacket with an 'X' on it, helicopters try to land on her!)

I did. Not because my mom had promised to gut me with her bare hands nor because my dad had threatened to get me to wear my ass as a hat if I didnt send the letters, (though it was sufficiently powerful incentive, mind you), it was more because the human spirit tiumphed over all physical adversity, even an obstacle as big as an inefficient post office (an efficient indian post office is an anomaly in nature and would cause the universe to collapse and/or cause the devil to place a large order for sweaters coz hell had started to freeze over!). It was because I as an Indian could not afford to give up because life is full of challenges, because 'The Eye of the Tiger' is not just a song to me.

And also because wearing my ass as a hat would suck ass - literally.