I spent a good part of the day trying to track our box of joy (a box that my parents sent us for X-Mas). I first went to Palarivottom Post via rickshaw. It was very difficult to find, no one knew where the post office was and there is no sign for it. How convenient. Eventually, I found the post office located behind a building and up a dingy stairway. But the staff had no idea about my box. So a nice lady sent me to Kalloor Post Office- I went via rickshaw and inhaled deseil. There a mean lady sent me to Ellamakarra Post Office- I couldn't find the place, until I figured out it was near an important temple- then another rickshaw driver took me there. He was quite nice and we chatted in Malayalam. Apparently this is the correct post office where the package should have been sent- but they haven't seen it. So they sent me across the city to the Foreign Parcel Office near the YMCA.... This is what happened:
Grady goes with me. We go by bus to MG Road and then by rickshaw to YMCA. The rickshawwalla tries to rip us off, but we argue a bit in Malayalam and then he was ok with the correct payment.
The Foreign Parcel Office has three floors of boxes- many falling apart, stored in leaking, dirty and dingy rooms. The walls are painted blue, but all the paint is water-splattered and dirty. The staff sends us upstairs to the second floor (this means the third floor in America- don't ask). I explain our situation to a woman sitting among stacks and stacks of rotting paper. She tells us to wait for "Sir," i.e. her boss. Every man in a position of power is called "Sir" like a medieval knight. The time is 12:40. This is a dangerous time to be told to wait for a petty bureaucratic official because around this time they go off to lunch and then don't return until 2 or 3 in the afternoon. But no one will tell you to come back later and you will sit there waiting for "Sir" for several hours getting more and more frustrated and angry and then you will yell at "Sir" when he comes and this is not a good way to get "Sir" to help you. Most people here will just tolerate this and won't have any problem just sitting and waiting while some big headed post-master eats and sleeps on the job. Since we are impatient foreigners (who are often rude and go directly to "Sirs" of all sorts and tell them what needs to happen) we ask where "Sir" is and go downstairs to find him.
He is downstairs watching peons rip through boxes confiscating and censoring items right and left. He sees us and asks "What is your problem!" in a rude tone. We tell him that we are trying to find a parcel that was sent to us almost a month ago from the US. He tells us to wait upstairs in his office. We don't go up and this makes him very angry. People generally follow directions differentially here. Something is wrong with the system. Grady, meanwhile, is itching to search through the piles of randomly placed boxes, and thinks he has seen one that looks like it might be from the US.
Eventually "Sir" goes up stairs and we follow him to his office. "Sir" sits down behind his desk and says "Tell me." Since we are dealing with a "Sir" Grady has to do all the talking because all "Sirs" will ignore women who deign to speak to them. So Grady begins to expound on our situation and then "Sir's" cellphone rings and he immediately picks it up. After his chat in Hindi (not Malayalam) Grady starts to speak again. But now "Sir" is lighting a cigarette which he smokes, dropping ash all over his desk and the floor. No one uses ashtrays here because the sweeper will be through in a moment to sweep up the ashes.It is still annoying and toxic and illegal to smoke in public buildings in Kerala AND he isn't paying any attention to our situation. Eventually "Sir" rings a bell and then asks for the book where parcels are logged. A peon (this is a technical term in India and is actually an advertised position- someone who runs around papers and keeps keys and sometimes gets the tea), brings him the log book. The log book is a large, dirty, torn, hardbound notebook into which parcels are hand written. They are logged by date and by name of receiver and sender. There isn't a computer in sight, of course. There is no record of any package in our name our your name clearing customs here in Kochi.
Then "Sir" tells us that there are three reasons why the box may be delayed or confiscated. 1) Electronic devices, 2) Obscenities 3) If the customs slip says the box is worth more than $100 US dollars. In the second case we would not be able to collect the box, but I don't think they have sent us any porn or sex toys- at least I hope you haven't, for several reasons, not the least that it would be extremely creepy to receive such items from our parents. In the first or third case we will have to pay additional customs fees for the box. This is why one should never report high numbers on customs forms. But the box is not on the list of high alert packages or on the regular list, so basically he has no idea where it is. Moral of the story- if you want to send something to India in the mail send it through a private carrier like Fed Ex or DHL they will courier it to your door with no questions asked. Now an ant is biting my foot as I type this. No box and no AJ- (my brother's trip to India is delayed five days due to weather in the US). Hopefully we will get both by X-Mas.
