When the postman comes calling
Tucked away in the Nilgiris in Kerala, Chindakki can almost be written off the face of the earth. In this back of beyond Palakkad district, where life slows to a standstill and the vicinity is as populated by humans as wild animals, two 20-somethings are busy providing last-mile connectivity, in the form of one of the oldest means of communication—letters. Silpa P and Ajith K man the Chindakki post office that caters to the areas of Thadikundu, Murugala, Kadukumanna, Kinattukara, Veerannur, Thudukki and Galasi, populated by the Irula, Muduga and Kurumba tribes.
This sleepy hamlet comes with its own share of adventures. In most of these places, there are no roads and the 25-year-old assistant branch postmaster, Ajith, often has to walk to deliver the mail. While on his treks through the dense forests, there is always the danger of wild animals. “Nowadays, even elephants attack human beings,” says Ajith. He recalls an incident last year, when an elephant attacked a jeep at night and injured the passengers. Every day at the post office seems to be a wildlife day. On a bund on a river near the post office, a tiger hit a rock under the water and died of natural causes. At the back of the office, forest officers have regularly caught cobras, rat snakes and vipers.
“Delivery is a big problem. To send out mails like bank ATM cards, Aadhaar cards, interview letters, we could have called the person concerned on their mobile phones. But in the higher ranges, there is no mobile connectivity. Hence the long treks,” says the 26-year-old branch postmaster, Silpa. Their day begins by collecting the mail bag from Mukkali, four kilometres away. Ajith then sorts out the mail and sets out by 11.30 am. By the time he finishes all his deliveries, about 35-50 letters, on an average, it is about 4.30 pm. In the meantime, Silpa is busy at the post office dealing with money orders and registered letters from banks and a stray call letter for interviews.
In the midst of all this, language is also an issue. The seniors mostly speak in the tribal language, making it difficult to communicate. Sometimes Silpa is lucky to find someone who can understand both the tribal language and Malayalam. “That is how I have been able to communicate with the people,” says Silpa, as she gets ready to close the post office; the office shuts everyday at 12.30 pm. As the post master pulls the door shut, a tribal couple come knocking; they have travelled a distance of almost 20 km to collect their wage. With a sigh Silpa opens the door for them. “I cannot close the office. It would be cruel,” she says, as she pulls out the chair behind her desk.