more stories

The Post Office
Ah yes, the post office. That wonderful bureaucratic establishment that is supposed to help us stay connected to our loved ones and friends. Let me tell you about our little post office here in Bidhannager. It is a branch office, so it is small although doesn't seem to be understaffed.
The first time I went to the PO, which is within easy walking distance of my flat, I merely wanted to mail some thank-you notes. That posed only a small problem, particularly with the cost of the stamps. The stamp man sold me the stamps, I applied them to the notes and dropped them in the box outside the office. A couple of days later, a staff person from the Center brings me one of the notes and tells me there isn't enough postage on it. Another trip to the PO fixed that problem, and I hope you received your note.
The next time I visited the PO, I wanted to mail a package. UH OH, a package! That's a little more complicated. First, I had to go behind the wire cage where the business of posting takes place. I sat awhile, and then the man who had sold me the stamps on the previous visit, tried to tell me the package wasn't ready to be mailed. There was a loose piece of tape dangling from one end, but I intended to buy packaging tape and fix that. That wasn't the problem. "No tape." he tells me. I must tell you that I had already asked at the Center about mailing a parcel and knew something had to be done, but no one seemed able to tell me exactly what. After a time, the PO man took me to the bank, yes the bank, and he handed my parcel to a man there who looked at it wonderingly. Finally he weighed it and told me the cost. I paid him, and then we went back to the regular PO. I kept fretting about the loose tape, so the man took some glue and glued the loose end down. "This package isn't going anywhere," I'm thinking. The man dropped the parcel in a bin and assured me in so much body language that it was okay. So I left. Actually, the parcel arrived and in time for the birthdays it was meant for.
Now I have Christmas parcels to mail. I know I must do something, but I still don't know what.
I ask my friend, Ms. K. what time the PO closes since everything closes at 2:00, but I'm hoping the PO is different. She only answers by giving me numbers: 2, 4 hours, 6 hours. I have no idea what she's talking about. I decide to take a chance since this is Friday and time is swiftly fleeing.
I load up the packages on the back of my bike and set off walking my bike to the PO. I get there just a little after two and notice that it is open. Oh good! I unload the boxes and walk into the PO not even stopping at the window but go right around to the business area and plop my parcels onto the desk. My "friend" is there and another postal worker who looks at me and my parcels in a funny way. "I want to mail these parcels." "You can't," he says. "Why not?" I ask. "Because they are not wrapped properly." "How should they be wrapped?" "In cloth." I sort of knew this.
"Where do I get the cloth?" No answer. I volunteer some shops, but still no answer. Finally he says the bedding shop. Then he says, "You must have someone make the bag, and you must buy the seal." I notice from a package sitting nearby, properly wrapped, that there is some brown gunky stuff stuck here and there on the parcel. "Where do I get that and what do I ask for?" No help. Am I getting a little frustrated at this point? You'd better believe it. Then he says, even if I had the parcels wrapped, I couldn't mail them because we are closed. I said, "Your doors open." "We're open for internal business only. Come back tomorrow between 10 and 2 and you can mail your packages."
I lug the packages back out to my bike, load them up and walk home. I carry the things up three flights of stairs and shove them into my house and head to the Center.
I vent my frustration on the bishop who chuckles a bit and says, "Lynn, let us mail your parcels for you. Do not use the PO here. We will take them to Calcutta where everything you need is at the PO. A man sits outside the PO with the cloth, sews the bags, seals the bags, and addresses them. Then we take the parcels into the PO and they are mailed." I ventured to tell him I had tried once before to get them to mail a package, but wasn't heard, probably just as well.
So on Monday my packages went to Calcutta. They won't arrive on time, but maybe in time for my family to get them when they congregate after Christmas Day.

The Gardening Project
Our beans came in but in small numbers, so I had to figure out how to distribut them to the children. There was no way really unless each family got one bean, so I decided to do Stone Soup thing in the village closest to the Center.
First I went to the market to get some chicken bones which is what the villagers use to jazz up their rice and dal. I asked the shopkeeper for some bones, and he said "Prawns, yes prawns" and whips out a small package of frozen shrimp. I point to my bones and say "Not prawns, bones." I hold up my skin, and say "skin." "Oh, skinless," and he goes to the freezer to get a package of skinless chicken. I give up and say "wings." Okay, now he know and he gets me a package of wings.
Off I go to the village with the wings and a little bag of beans. This is my first time to go the village by myself and I'm excited about it. When I arrive, the children run out and greet me. I tell them what I want to do. First we need a big pot, a dekshee. Someone runs to get a pot which is actually a water jug. Now we need a place to work. I keep trying to set things on an outdoor platform with cooking utensils on it. "No miss, no, not there." "Where, then?" "Here, here."
There is a larger platform nearby so I set the chicken on it and the beans and the pot. "Now we need a potato. Does anyone have a potato?" Eyes light up and one child says, "I do." He runs to get the potato. We end up with two potatoes, two onions, some rice and some dal. The kids get busy and wash the chicken, peel the potatoes, snap and string the beans, and chop the onion.
"MMMm, where will we cook this soup?" A moment of silence comes and then a little boy says, "Come to my house." We head for his house. I must tell you that we have a gathering of other children and the parents who have not found work this day, all watching and giggling. The door is very low and I have to duck to go inside. Inside it is dark, but the stove is there on the ground. Are you thinking gas? It's more like an outdoor camp stove except there is no wire rack to set the pot on. The kids build the fire and smoke is pouring out of the house, and their eyes are watering, but we are having fun. We cook the chicken, then veggies, then the rice and dal. I have to leave, but did sample a bit of the rice, pretty good.
In the afternoon, the children come running to the Center telling me that the soup was very good.
I hope before too long, we'll have more beans and another pot of stone soup at the other villages.
Pics of this event will follow later. The bishop wants his computer.
Shanti
Lynn