Postman’s knock

My friend Posty recently did his annual-trip to his village.

Posty and I did our graduation together, and stayed in the same hostel in Trichy, many years ago. Posty is not the name that his parents bestowed. This was a nickname that he got in college, and as is the case in most cases, this name has stuck. And he got this nickname because he ran a mini post office in his hostel room. We could buy stationary, letters, stamps and stuff from him – 7 X 24 hours – service with a smile.

And that friendly smile of his remains his great strength,  as he now straddles the world of business as one of the top honchos in the advertising world of India.

Posty went to his village last month.

Its a small village with a name that sounds like Srivachur, and is near Trichy somewhere. He goes there every year, to offer worship to the family deity – amman – a Goddess. And when he goes there, he also takes a supply of stationary, notebooks, pens, pencils, sharpeners, erasers etc for giving away to his village folks – for them and their kids…

This year, he went during some festival time, and there was a long queue of pilgrims at the temple. As he ambled along the queue, he got chatting with one of the temple attendants – Selvam, an elderly gentleman. Posty offered him some notebooks, pencils etc, as he did to other village folks, and Selvam accepted the gift quite happily. As they chatted along, Selvam told his story to Posty.

Selvam lost his wife many years ago, when his daughter was as yet a child. He brought up his daughter, and got her married. She had a daughter too, and then suddenly she was affected by some dreadful disease. She suffered badly for a few months and died. Her husband was so deeply affected by this tragic event, and was indeed so attached to his wife, that he couldnt cope with life. He committed suicide.

That left Selvam with a small baby grand-daughter. He brought her up, and she was now going to school. The kid was kind of adopted by the whole village, and was perfectly at home with the neighbours as well, and someone or other took care of her even when he was busy at work in the temple….He was very happy to receive the gift of notebooks etc from Posty, and was sure that his granddaughter would be overjoyed.

Posty was rather struck by this story, and asked Selvam how he managed to cope with all the trauma that he had to experience in life…

Heres what Selvam said…

“Sir….I have been working in this temple since the time I was sixteen years of age. And the Goddess of this temple has given me a boon. A great boon. She has blessed me with the gift of forgetting. I do not carry memories. I do not remember my ‘yesterdays’.  The Goddess has given me peace…”, said Selvam, sharing the boon of his Goddess with Posty.

Posty was quite knocked over. His pilgrimage had been blessed. His Goddess had given him what he came for.

He had gotten a glimpse of silence of mind.

3 Responses to “Postman’s knock”

  1. श्रीनिवासकृष्णन Says:

    It’s a very good story.

  2. gkamesh Says:

    thanks man….iz a real story too….

  3. M A Prasad Says:

    I keep reminding myself about my father’s advice – better to forget painful and regretful incidents – whether it is self inflicted or inflicted by others. In the same breath keep remembering good deeds life long. He was a practitioners and he leads a very peaceful life. What an advice I had.

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