Postman for all seasons

Siripathy Jayamaha

All living beings express themselves by the movement of their limbs, expressions of their faces and by their voices. In the animal world it is shown by the timbre of the sounds of their voices and by their faces.

Carrying messages

Man sent messages by the sound of the drum. Here we bring back memories of Edgar Rice Burroughs ‘Tarzan’ who sent his messages to the denizens of the forest by way of the ‘Hoo’ from atop the trees. Red Indians sent smoke signals. In our own land, messages in the days past were conveyed by the tom-tom beater. His words ‘Asaw Asaw’ was a much sought after precursor to many a Royal decree in ancient times. Remind us of phedipedres the Greek runner who carried a message for a distance of 26 miles. His historic run is even today immortalised in the sports world - Yes! The lovely marathon.

Another unforgettable message of how ‘they’ carried the good news from Aix to Essex.

The tom-tom beater or the ‘anda bera karaya’ was amongst us till the mid twentieth century. He was a much sought after person in the village. He went round the township beating the ‘anda beray’ announcing government notices, dates and venues for medical clinics and is to where dogs should be brought for the ‘antirabies jab,’ also obituaries.

An alert mind

Then in 1798, with the establishment of the Postal Department or services and the opening of the five major post offices in then Ceylon, the system spread island wide. It was then that our beloved postman or Thappal Mamma came into our midst. He became and continues to be an affable ‘Institution.’ Long years back, the postman, with the Khaki Coat, felt hat and an eye catching Putter sarong was always a welcome person. He walked, flitting from house to house. His profession called for an alert mind in remembering names and addresses of residents within his jurisdiction.

Later names gave way to local authority house numbers. Then, the postman on the bicycle replaced the tired postman. The postman was the only government officer who had the honour and sense of dedication to walk or to push his bicycle, into leech infested jungles, up the crags of Lanka and the tiny fishing hamlets bordering our lovely island.

His bell was the signal, that there was a message. The message could be written on a humble post card or a much looked forward to registered letter. Yes! In wind, snow, sleet, sun or rain, the mail has to go on. A beautiful ‘motto,’ the postman sorts out the letters at the post office he arranges them in accordance with the route he is going to take in his allocated area. Here we recall Freddie Silva’s ‘Thappal Mamma.’

Good old days

The postman is a respected person all over the world. Especially in his own domain, a wave here, a smile there, his arrival in the area is much appreciated. The beloved Thappal Mamma makes a brief stop over at the local boutique. The owner is a Sri Lankan, so a tasty cup of tea ‘on the houses.’ He enjoys it, while listening to some gossip until of late, Christmas/New Year cards and Vesak cards were delivered on that day itself, although these annual occasions were public holidays. Our sweet postman had a card for all. Short stop overs where Christmas cards have to be delivered, leaves with Christmas cakes, other sweet meats and an affectionate ‘something’ in his pocket. In the good old days, a very hasty chat with Bacchus, makes our postman rather unsteady on the bike. A postman brings tidings. Tidings of joy, grief, frustration, hope and notice that a local or airmail parcel awaits you at the post office. In the golden days of yore, lovers await the ring of the postman’s bell or knock on the door. He never has to knock twice. The recipient reads the much awaited love letters sent from within the country or from abroad.

Receiving letters

Alas! The wonderful ecstasy experienced in receiving a hand written letter of affection with enclosed photographs and flowers has given way to electronic messages with a hilarious combination of the mother tongue and English. ‘Amma I luv U. V.R. Ok Luv,’ also via internet, Skype and emails.

Today, the only letters we receive are greeting cards, invitations, acknowledgements, the dreaded water, electricity, telephone bills and final notices for renewal of pawned jewellery.

The last three months of the year, make anxious parents to await the postman with their fingers crossed and lots of prayer. They receive letters from schools where their little ones had sought admission for coming year.

The postal service will lose its meaning without our lovely postman. The world needs him. The postman will never ever be a redundant professional. I salute you. Mother Lanka salutes you, Mother Earth salutes you.