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The solitary postbox

Forlorn, secluded, standing in slience.
I am a piece from the past.
The man who made me was all proud
To launch my ruddy adventure.
There was a time when many a man
In uniform strode up to me.
With reverence, courage, hope and more,
He shared his deepest thought and brightest news.
I took up the task and sent his missive far away somewhere on earth.
I was the first in a long line of soldiers who toiled on land, in air and on sea.
We tarried never, in whatever weather,
And reached the loved one or stern boss always in time.

Oh,  how the times have changed. Now all the excitement I see is traffic snarls with JCB's, cargo trucks, smart little cars and careless drivers.
I get now a fresh coat of dust every minute.
And that elusive Post-office Red touched me but several monsoons ago.
I am no more a landmark, no more a cheerful memory, no more a soldier much in the line of duty.

I am but a solitary postbox.

(photo: the postbox at the Army traffic signal in Victoria Layout).

But I know it already!

I found this picture at a website called Ideachampions which linked to this.

My ears are nowadays full of words I hear all the time from youngsters and kids, "But I know this already!"

They are JUST NOT INTERESTED in listening.

I was wondering what would have been my fate if I had been thinking like this -a bit more than I did perhaps :)

1. I would not have learnt anything about electricity. I would have been electrocuted while doing all my crazy experiments as a kid.
2. I would not have been able to understand almost any fine art, as almost everything has its own idiom and I had to learn it by careful watching and listening.
3. I had to learn all the road rules... otherwise I would have been run over.
4. I wouldn't have learnt any language.
5. I wouldn't have known how to dress properly.
6. I wouldn't have chosen the right balance in what I ate...
7. I wouldn't have gone to a doctor and had any tests. 
8. I wouldn't have been able to operate almost any gadget that I use routinely now.
9. I would have been lost on the way to work or way back home.
10. I wouldn't have wondered how to cure myself of this "I know it already" disease.

Good Morning, God!

Her "Good morning, God!"has a cheerful ring.

This one moves to the head of a long winding line descending and disappearing from here, from above the clouds, into mist and smog down to earth. It's a girl. She wishes that their much awaited picnic, since dad has an unexpected holiday, goes well and she gets ice-cream and cotton candy.

The next one moves up. He is a portly man in unkempt clothes, getting ready to run to his shop, Jayalaxmi Wines. The weekend sales were good but that Raghavendra Spirits, opened just opposite his prime location, is a worry. "Please make sure my sales increase, and I will spare no effort to rope in the college boys and teachers nearby".

The next is an IAS officer. He wants a transfer from Naxal-hit hinterland to the urban chaos where no IAS officer can ever be pulled up for non-performance, what with the din and garbage all around. Not to mention the wobbly government and coalition CM.

Then comes a school teacher. She really wishes her ward well, the one whose talent is about to be recognised by Intel for Youth Ideas.

The next is a musician. He has been praying for a prime slot in the Kutcheri circuit, and a sabha secretary has promised him the much needed break.

Then a housewife. She has already been busy making breakfast, packing everyone's lunch and ironing clothes. She is praying that the larger than life Anandi in Balika Vadhu is not falsely implicated for shop lifting.

And it goes on and on.

God looks tired. And very old. He looks much different from Michaelangelo's muscular masterpiece. More grey, more wrinkled, as he peers on the horizon. The sun never sets or rises for him. He hasn't slept a wink ever, and the constant "Good Morning, God" goes on all the time. He listens patiently, watches every face for a smile, a tear, and more importantly, honesty. He sees beyond what everyone shows on their face or in their voice. It is just that they never look at him, as they are simply engrossed in their own thoughts and the images and icons in front of them, with lamps, candles, incense and flowers.

They actually pray, but seldom believe.