Post-mortem

** Fiction as always**

There are only some 1,440 tigers left in India, presumably including the CWG mascot, Shera. Clearly the Indian tiger is an endangered species, and we must do all we can to save it. But while we are trying to save the tiger, let's spare a thought for a species that is not just endangered but extinct: the postman.

Remember the postman? He was the guy - though it may well have been a gal, the erstwhile postal department having been an equal-opportunity institution - who left mail for you in your letter box. Postmen - postpeople, if you prefer - were like Santa Claus, or the Tooth Fairy: you never saw them but you found evidence that they'd been there by what they left behind - letters, bills, junk mail, what have you. No, it's not quite true that you never saw postpeople. You did see your postperson, once a year. On the dot of Diwali your postperson would turn up on your doorstep for the annual Diwali mubarak baksheesh that all postpeople were entitled to by tradition, if not by their official terms of employment.

Over the years, i'd got to know my postperson quite well, thanks to our once-a-year meetings on Diwali. Then this Diwali, my postperson didn't turn up. Had my postperson forgotten? Unlikely. Postpeople had to have powerful memories, capable of remembering all those addresses and where exactly each one was on their beats. A good memory was a professional requirement if you were a postperson. So why had my postperson not kept our Diwali rendezvous?
Then I begun to come across people, friends and neighbours, whose postpeople had also not turned up for their Diwali baksheesh. Why this sudden paucity of postpeople? That's when the ominous thought struck me: were postpeople becoming - or had already become - an extinct species, along with the dodo, the typewriter and telephones which had dials instead of pushbuttons?
And the chilling answer seemed to be 'yes'. Along with the dodo, the typewriter and phones with dials, evolution had bypassed the postperson. With the advent of internet and e-mail people not only stopped using 'snail mail' to correspond with each other, but they also stopped writing letters at all to each other. Instead, they tweeted each other, or sent each other SMSs: Hw r u?
OK, so people stopped writing letters. But what about bills, junk mail, pizza delivery offers (If It's Not Hot/Our Bandha Can Be Shot), and all that other stuff? If there were no more postpeople - because people had stopped writing letters - who was going to deliver all the other mail? The answer, of course, was couriers, a vast army of which appeared overnight.
Unlike postpeople whom you never saw, save on Diwali, you see couriers every day, several of them every day. When the doorbell rings you always know it's the courier come calling. How do you know this? Because experience has taught you that couriers, all couriers, have an uncanny psychic ability by which they know exactly when to ring the doorbell while you are in the middle of performing an intimate function which requires your total concentration, like using the loo, or trimming your toenails, or dealing with the blackhead that's suddenly appeared on the tip of your nose. You're just about to squeeze the damn thing out when ... Ring! It's the courier. With an invitation to an ikebana exhibition organised by the Indo-Japanese Friendship League, or the exciting book launch of the Telephone Directory.
Yesterday the doorbell rang. I wasn't in the loo, or the shower. So it couldn't be the courier. Could it be my postperson, come back to life? It wasn't. It was the courier. Demanding Diwali baksheesh. I gave it too.

As a bribe. Not to make sure the courier kept coming to deliver my mail. But to make sure the courier stopped coming to deliver my mail.

Mountain L.I.O.N

We were driving through the beautiful national park of Yosemite at night when the entire sierra Nevada range (white granite) was bathing in beautiful moonlight .White moonflowers which bloom only at night smiled in the meadows as we passed through them .My gaze was locked in the sky where I could see stars twinkling through the moon roof in the car. People around me were tired and were trying to either check the camera batteries or missing their loved ones.
Suddenly the car jerked to a sudden stop when the car beam fell on the sign board which had text in neon ink :
WARNING: Beware of mountain lion.
Hearing lion stories in the comfort of your warm bed from your grandparents is a totally different experience than to confront a sign board that warns you of its existence.
The brake lights at the back of our car glowed, we all sat silently for a moment deciding our next steps when we heard rumbling in the nearby area, it seemed so awfully close, one of us assured that it was just a wild deer for that matter and we were all making much ado about nothing. Though I must mention the voice of the speaker was hesitant to its very pitch, some assurance is better than none.
A look alike of Bambi jumped and off it went. Phew!!
We all giggled but suddenly there was a strange low shriekey sound ,it sounded as if someone or something was in pain , we all shushed up to hear better but the clarity in pain didn't help much as we just felt worse.
The big question was did we want to risk stepping out.
A ranger vehicle stopped as we had our emergency light's on .
He approached our car and saw 4 pair of doe eyes peering at him .We shared our concern , he looked unperturbed and said maybe it was a Bear. After all there must be reasons for calling California the bear country. He checked with us if we had any food in our car ?
The strong smell of garlic from my co-occupant‘s breath reminded of the pizza boxes in the boot of the car. He reminded of us the 1000$ littering fine and the fact that animals get attracted to food.
Even though words were not exchanged we knew we had to get rid of the food .We couldn’t find a bin so stopped at a campsite hoping to find a bin.
We all got out of the car looking for a bin. Unity in times of adversity helps .Trust me. But little did we realize that were walking with the bait .Probably smelled “ bait” for a carnivorous out there.
before we knew we had a :

A petit cat jumped in front of us and snarl.

A pal of mine who apparently had a source of light in her hand (a pencil cell powered laser) -our only source of light in the pitch dark forest…the camp lights had been extinguished and the clouds over the moon didn’t help either ,thumped loudly on the ground .
The cat was unperturbed .It looked at us. I threw the food in my hand in its direction .
“Please don’t feed animals “ was a sign we had read perhaps at every second turn in the national park and the monetary penalty stated with it but alas.
And then a volunteer wearing a hat with light fitted on it like the miners used to wear emerged from the corner and said :

“That’s the mountain lion folks, walk away it will do nothing.”
We didn’t know what stumped us more the volunteer appearing from nowhere, or the fact the “meow” creature in front was the much hyped mountain lion “Junglii billi “ my friends is called the Mountain lion in California.We all burst out laughing .

And I had to blog about it.
:)

Zzap

Everybody around me had a vocation yesterday from coding to ironing clothes . I was too restless to warm the couch so I took a cab to the nearest Farmers market (that’s the American version of Indian haat ). It's a place where farmers come and sell their products .The smell of churros (hot cinnamon sticks ) filled my nostrils and pansies’ in the corner looked all bright n pretty.The place had everything from fresh live stock to creamiest dairy.There were several kiosks as well with games promising 5 ft stuff toys as prizes (hard to resist. Right ??)

I played dart, hand wrestled plastic arms, mis-spelled Mississippi ,squirted waterguns and before i realized i was standing among lots of people.They were all looking at a raised section of floor which worked as a make do stage. A man in a tux (completely different then the usual rugged torn jeans worn by one and all ) had a microphone in one hand and a stick in other .He was inviting volunteers .I looked around and found a small board in the corner of the stage,which read

“James kellog jr Hypnotist show “

Hmm interesting. I have always been curious about the subject and what better way to experience it then volunteering for it .So before I knew I was sitting with a group of 9 other excited homo sapiens who wanted to experience or prove Mr Kellog all wrong.Which sect I belonged to is a difficult statement to make. I did smile and waved to the crowd on being told to do so.I distinctly remember that the host started the segment with welcome notes and disclaimers.We did what we were told.

Relaxed our bodies.Shook hands.Stood up.Sat down.

Zzap.Blank.(maybe not blank) .

Barked like dogs. Got scared with so called rain.Jumped make belief whoops.

Zzap.Blank.(maybe not blank) .

and waived back thanked our host and walked down.

That was fun.

Curious Georges out there to answer whether “ did I actually get hypnotized “ and do things is a thing to find out after I watch the video my kellogs company mailed me after reducing numbers in my account.

So lemme wait and watch

and maybe…maybe..just maybe I might share

:)