POP Culture

====================================

For the first 60 years of my life, till e-mail, attachments, and online submission of Papers to International Journals arrived, we were all tyrannized by the Post Office Protocol (POP) Culture (or the lack of it). The Department of Post and Telegraphs of India was a megalith monopoly and we were slaves to its whims and fancies.

I had earlier described how my Dream-Career in lies, falsehood, euphemism, hyperbole, prevarication, gul, and what SPK deliciously calls 'clever trimming' was launched by the overbearing overtures of a beedi-smelling Postman when I was just about 3. Here is the link for those who missed it:

***********************************************
http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2009/10/seven-ages-of-lying-man.html

***********************************************

[Aside: The Statesman was all enthu and pulled all stops to publish my Praise of Laziness, and two other insipid colored pieces; but when I submitted this absolutely truthful piece titled: 'Seven Ages of a (Lying) Man', it went into hibernation. Then on, both of us stood our ground: I declined to submit anything more and The Statesman decided that she had more than enough of me. Shyamal tells me that there were also wheels behind wheels and he should know. My blogspot is more tolerant of naked truth; as of now {;-)].

My next mortifying encounter with POP came when I was in my B Sc (Hons), and supposedly a wise guy. One day when I was at my father's place at Kovur, making daily Summer Vacation push-bike trips to the nearby District HQ town of Nellore, my father handed me a sealed envelope and asked me to go to the Office of the District Superintendent of Post Offices at James Gardens and drop it in the Box outside his august Office; which I did.

A couple of days later, the neighborhood Postman barged into our home guffawing loudly, pushed another sealed envelope into my father's hands, and demanded Rs. 0.75 on the spot. As my father glanced through the thing, his face fell and he coughed up the said number of coins as the Postman retreated triumphantly. I didn't get the default thrashing as I was too old for it, but got a juicy snubbing that rankles to this day.

Apparently, my Headmaster-father had a running fight with the Local Post Master at Kovur over a refund of Re 1.00 only that was due for his School. As the Local PM was dillying and dallying for reasons best known to him (I guess he had to foot it from his pocket for his past mistakes), my father lost his patience and wrote that stinking Complaint Letter to the HQ that I was to drop in the Box in front of his James Garden Office.

To this day I maintain that he was at fault for failing to specify that I had to drop it in the Toll-Free White Box but not the Blood Red One that demands stamps glued to it even for local mails.

I leave the rest to your imagination: the amusement of the Superintendent and his staff and their reply that went, "Whereas we appreciate your disgust over our delayed refund of Re 1.00 due to you, we are forced to charge you Rs. 1.75 as penalty for dropping your unstamped 'Bearing' Envelope in our Red Box. Kindly arrange for the prompt payment of Balance Rs. 0.75 after deducting the Re. 1.00 we owe you; Yours ever in service etc".

My father's ever-strained relations with his Postmen cost me dear in terms of anguish and agony a decade later when I was at home from KGP on a Puja Vacation. My friend at Kurnool was very ill when we parted and we agreed on daily updates via POP. Despite my dozen daily letters followed up by telegrams, there was a stony and painful silence from him. As I was fearing the worst and planning to make a trip to Kurnool in person, my friend and his cheerful wife arrived one morning at our doorsteps to our great relief. They were surprised at our dismay because they had religiously replied all my letters and telegrams, and were rather expecting to be received at the Railway Station and were wondering what could have gone wrong.

It turned out that the newly appointed ad hoc 'Contract Post-Man' demanded Rs 10.00 as his Puja Bakshish when my father offered him his usual Re. 1.00; which the CPM haughtily declined and my father pocketed. And as a revenge the the CPM 'deferred' all deliveries till the Regular Postman handed in the accumulated bundle (for Re. 1.00) much after we all had left for KGP!

I learned my lesson early and kept the best of relations with my neighborhood Postmen, Policemen and my SBI Bankers at IIT KGP.

Not so my Theoretical Physicist-friend and colleague Professor C L Roy.

[When Sayan conveyed the sad news of CLR's demise a couple of years back, I wrote up a 'piece' on him for our Departmental Magazine. SPK dryly said it was a 'word-picture' in ancient style not seen nowadays in mod-lit. Here is the link:

****************************************************
http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html

*****************************************************]

One day rumors spread in IIT that CLR had picked up a frightful row in our IIT SBI Branch which escalated to the level of the Branch Manager, who thereof "declared CLR: Persona Nongrata for 15 days", with Notices put up in the Bank to that effect.

I had the best of relations with CLR who was otherwise known for his reticence. So I cornered him and asked him if the rumors were true. He said 'yes' and seemed rather proud about it. I then asked him what exactly it meant: he wouldn't be let in, and refused Banking Services.

CLR replied:

"Not as bad as that; they only refused their traditional much-vaunted

"Service with a Smile!"


=====================================