Stiff upper lip

Sending greeting cards can give sticky moments

December 27, 2014 01:18 pm | Updated 01:18 pm IST - Thiruvananthapuram

Illustration: Sreejith R.Kumar

Illustration: Sreejith R.Kumar

‘Greeting cards? Who on earth sends them any more?’ A stranger in the queue muttered when the cards in my hand slipped from my grasp at the post office. True, the internet age has rendered cards out of favour with most people but not all. There continue to be faithful believers in the good old greeting card, sent by snail mail.

‘What would you know, you impatient pursuer of instant gratification, about the joys and challenges of sending a card?’ I wanted to tell him. What I actually said was a muted ‘Thank you’ as he picked up a few cards.

The selection of cards itself is fraught with mystery and surprises. The few shops that still stock them are generally stuffy and dimly lit; you patronise them believing they are on their way to extinction. You hurriedly pick up something old, something new, something burrowed, something blue while keeping a squinting eye on the price, and discover their antiquity only when you get home.

In the clear light of day they turn out to be venerable specimens, uniformly yellowish grey or greyish yellow. Age has withered them and customers’ frequent handling has stained their original purity; too late you realise why the shops were romantically lit. ‘Stiff upper lip,’ you tell yourself. ‘Stay calm.’ You proceed to steps two and three - writing them out and addressing them. Once you find a pen that actually writes, dashing off messages is easy; everyone gets faded cards, and anyway, it’s the thought that counts. But dogged detective work precedes the writing of addresses.

The culminating step is at the post office, where I was, holding out the card that was to go overseas to the man at the counter. He weighed and considered it before handing me the required stamps. I promptly licked and stuck them so they wouldn’t get mixed up with the others.

The man frowned in disapproval. ‘Aiyee, that’s old fashioned,’ he commented. ‘Use the gum there.’ Old fashioned? That was news to me. I’d have thought licking was a crude but hassle-free method while using gum or water was more dignified. I’ve had some sticky experiences with gum and viewed it with suspicion but under the eagle eyes of the apostle of modernity, walked obediently to the table.

The gum bottle, with a gooey pen stuck in, was more gum than bottle with glue in varying degrees of dryness all over it like lava around an over-active volcano. I merely touched the pen, but my fingers adhered fast to it. The battle with the bottle had begun. Using the left hand to hold the bottle, I gave the pen a hard tug. It came away with a jerk shovelling some jelly-like substance right on my mouth. Phthoo! Now one hand was stuck to the bottle, the other to the pen. Would I have to go through life with them attached to me?

Pressing down the end of the pen with my elbow, I pulled one hand free. The pen got stuck to my sleeve and I flexed and unflexed my elbow, like a wrestler, to release it. Next, I wrapped some waste paper around the bottle and yanked my left hand free. Napkin, napkin, where are you? I rummaged through my handbag, liberally transferring gum to all its contents. Cowardly napkin; it crumbled under the strain and attached itself in bits and pieces to my hands and face.

The stamps had disappeared. The scoffer of cards gleefully pointed to my right sleeve. I detached them, but now they turned their affection to my fingers and began a game of passing the stamps, moving glutinously from one hand to the other. Prising them loose was tough; they kept getting stuck to one another. I gave up. Licking was the only recourse. Hiding from the gaze of the man at the counter behind a fat lady, I surreptitiously licked each freed stamp, ignoring the yucky taste.

Finally I was done. As I rose, taking away somebody’s laundry bill on my dupatta and some bad taste in my mouth, I saw the fat lady pick up the pen and the bottle. I was delighted, but there was no time to watch the fun. I posted the cards, certain a few were yoked together; but by then I was past caring. They fell with a ‘thonk’ in the letter-box – probably the only inhabitants there.

‘Ma’am, there are stamps on your back,’ an amused voice sang from behind. I grimaced. Rather, I tried to, but couldn't. The gum had done its work. Stiff upper lip.

[khyrubutter@yahoo.com]

(A fortnightly column by city-based writer, academic and author of theButterfingersseries)

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