The news that the Post and Telegraph department was discontinuing with the money order services appeared to me as the passing away of an era. It made me pull out my old trunk and reach out for my most cherished possession — the scrapbook that I had maintained since childhood. On it were pasted numerous little, thick and rough slips of paper from the money orders that I had received as a child. The scribbling on them were words of affection from the people I adored. Each slip corresponded with an important milestone of my life. The little slips now yellow with age, marked my emergence from a shy introvert child into a youth. There was my grandma’s painful scrawl stating she had sent me money for my 11th birthday.
Each Dussehra was marked with slips of paper from the money order forms that contained the good wishes of the loved ones stating the amount of money they had sent and asking me to purchase a suitable article of their choice. Then there was a specific instruction from my uncle asking me to buy a book on morals. A lump developed in my throat at the congratulatory note of my grandfather stating that he had sent me Rs 100 as money order on passing the class tenth exam. The brief sentences mirrored his immense happiness.
There was no note from my grandparents after my Class 12 exams. The grandparents, who were genuinely interested in my progress and had always been my pillars of strength, were no more.
The space at the bottom of the money order forms where a few lines could be written by hand gave the money order a personal touch. Can this ever compare with the impersonal way we transfer money through banks? I remember sending money orders and writing similar notes from post-offices. The forms were to be neatly filled and Rs 5 paid for each hundred sent. There were no computers and the postmasters took care to fill out the forms by hand. The receipt had to be carefully preserved until the acknowledgement returned affirming that the money had been received.
There were very few instances of money orders not reaching their destination. This was the most important mode to send money home. How the families at remote villages waited for the postman and its delivery. The postman was ever ready to help the illiterate count their money they had received and read out the personal note that had been so endearingly written. Indeed, some people were even happy to share a small amount of the money with the postman.
The postman became a part of the family, a person who shared with them their tales of joy and woe. Most young men who left home to earn a living had to make promises to send money orders home every month. Even a trifle sent home would make the old folks happy. The money order was supposed to instill a sense of responsibility in the youth and prevent them from going wayward. It was considered a grievous fault, quite akin to sin if one failed. One episode of my brother comes to mind. My brother had dutifully sent Rs 2,000 as promised to my parents. In the white space he had neatly written – Sending Rs 2,000 as discussed. Please send me Rs 2,500!
I’ve never come across a more sorry figure of a postman than the one I came across in remote Orissa. Money orders were few and far between. The postman demanded a higher ‘baksheesh’ money for the delivery of the money orders. One such day, when the unjust demand was made, this time with the additional demand of a packet of biscuits, I lost my temper. My rudeness stunned the man and he did something that was beyond imagination.
He broke out into loud wails! I did everything to pacify the inconsolable man. Having sufficiently composed himself, he revealed the truth. The actual postman ran a lucrative business and was too busy to perform his duty. He had engaged the poor man for a paltry sum and no one knew of the impersonation.
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