During the late 80's letters
were the most common medium of communication. My parents used to post dozens of
letters to relatives and friends, each week. The visits to the red-Letter Box in
the corner of the street, were always fun filled and thrilling. The letter box resembled
a large robot with a cap over its head and a huge mouth that could gulp
anything. I always had the privilege of dropping the letters in its bottom less
belly.
It was summertime and
my father, who was a banker with a reputed bank, had to attend an official
meeting in the ‘Officer’s Training Centre’ in Bhopal. During those days, the
travel time between Kashmir to Bhopal was somewhere between 45 - 55 hours. One
had to take a bus from Kashmir to Jammu, a train from Jammu to Delhi and another
train from Delhi to Bhopal. The Kashmir to Jammu journey must have been a
pleasant one, since Kashmir is in the lap of the Himalayas and the mercury
doesn’t soar too high. However, the journey from Jammu to Bhopal, must have
been an arduous one.
Once Dad reached Bhopal,
he wrote us a letter. The letter took 12 days to reach us. I guess the post too moved at a snail's
pace during those days. The letter was mostly about us - behaving ourselves and not troubling
our mother as much (my father knew very well that troubling was an integral
part of growing up). Mom read out the letter to us and told us that dad would bring
us sweets and toys if we behaved ourselves. Our joy knew no bounds. Mom noticed
the excitement on our faces and told us to share this news with our aunt. Since
we lived in a joint family everything would be shared with one another. I along
with my siblings took the letter and ran towards my aunt's room, which was at
the end of the long alley.
While we were running
in the alley, we noticed Dad walking towards us from the other end of the
alley. We were pleasantly surprised to see dad. However, we were even more puzzled,
how it could be remotely possible for a letter to arrive almost at the same
time. We hugged him tight and took his baggage. We were excited at the thought
of the goodies his luggage held. Sure, enough there were sweets and toys
inside.
I can’t recall what toys
or sweets he had bought, but I do clearly remember the thing that caught our
fancy that day. It was Dad arriving moments after his letter arrived. The memory
of him walking in the alley is still so fresh in my mind. I know it is the
father who is the real Santa Claus, always brining happiness, excitement, and a
lot of goodies for his children.
We love you Santa, we
love you Dad.
