A Mail Tale

India is known for its superbly reliant courier service. Letters, postcards, and packages (parcels) all share the same risks of either arriving on time or never at all. Yet, as I recently learned, sending a package has a story all its own.

Having collected all my necessary items, I carried my wrapped items to the post office located in the part of town known as "The Budge". This is the part I like to refer to as, well, creepy. I proudly ignored all the stares and laughter along the way because I fully understand that seeing a white girl carrying a massive parcel must be a bit baffling and wildly hilarious. After climbing the steps up to the post office, I presented my bulk to the teller. He looked at me, then at the package and said, "Box Madam. First box finding. Outside man box." Grabbing my parcel, I headed back down the steps to find a grocer who might have an extra box. I found one and took it back with me to the post office. I quickly learned that the prior contents in the box was chili powder. After getting covered in a cloud of red dust, I sealed my contents safely into the box and brought the box back to the teller. The man looked at me, then at the box and said, "Madam. Parcel material packing. You tailor bringing, parcel wrapping." I headed back downstairs and up the hill to find a tailor who would wrap my box in cloth. I found one, bargained down to a reasonable price, waited while he stitched, and proceeded back to the post office. I proudly presented my wrapped box parcel to the teller. He looked at me, then at the box and said, "Madam you no sending today. Closing only. Closing 2pm. It now 2:30pm being. You no sending today." I grabbed my box and lugged it all the way home.

I still have not sent my package.