How to Mail a Letter in India

There is order amidst the chaos that is India. Just don’t expect it to always make sense.

Take sending a letter. Easy enough, right? Ah, if only.

The post office opened at 10:00, and when I got there at 10:37 the doors were just opening. I walked inside, the interior decoration best described as “old style colonial doom-and-gloom,” presented with a row of glaring clerks.

I would like to mail this letter, I said. But they did not have envelopes. An odd oversight, given their reason for being. So out of the post office I went, and found a shop that could sell me an envelope.

I returned and presented my letter. The clerk weighed it, then sent me packing to another clerk down at the end to pay. This surly fellow was in the middle of a heated argument with a customer clear across the hall.

Eventually, he turned his attitude towards me and flipped through a large book of stamps. 181 rupees total postage, so I gave him 201 rupees. First he found a 50 rupee stamp. Then two 20s. Then a 10. This was a slow, laborious process. Then four more 20s. Then a 1.

He then asked for 181 rupees. I gave you 201 already, I said. (Nice try, I thought.) Ah. So he found my 201 rupees. Then was confused about change, so he grabbed the stamps back from me and counted them, with another customer chiming in as well. 181 rupees.

He wrote 181 down on a scrap piece of paper. Then wrote 201 above it, and proceeded to work out the subtraction manually on this piece of paper while I stood there wondering how in the world this man became cashier. Finally, he calculated the change to be 20 rupees. Astounding. Someone give this guy an abacus.

He opened an old metal lock box, fished out two 10s, and waved me off. Uh, what about the letter? I inquired. During all this counting I had tried to lick the back of one of the stamps to paste it on the letter, but there was no adhesive whatsoever on them. He pointed back in the general direction of my original clerk.

I went back to my glaring clerk, letter in one hand and 181 rupees in stamps in the other. You need glue, I was told. Thank you, Sherlock. And no, the post office did not have glue, I was told. Three times, actually, since I couldn’t believe it the first two.

Back out of the post office I went with my envelope and assorted stamps. Have you ever walked around a city asking shopkeepers if you could borrow their glue? Me neither. First time for everything, but eventually I found it.

I now had a complete, stamped letter, which I brought back to my clerk, who had not yet warmed up to me despite this being our fourth encounter. The clerk looked at the letter and said it could not be mailed, because the return address wasn’t in India.

I pointed out that I didn’t live in India. This created a little brouhaha in the post office. Another clerk got involved, then a manager. I have no idea what they were saying because it was all in heated Hindi, but there was pointing (at the letter, at the offending return address, at me, back at the letter) and waving of arms and shaking and waggling of heads. You’d think I’d asked if I could mail firecrackers.

Eventually the manager (the one with the biggest belly) did a sideways head waggle, the clerk stamped the letter through and gave me a final parting glare, and that was that. I had mailed my letter, Indian-style.