Nostalgia

A Postbox at the MRT station near my workplace started me thinking on my childhood. The days when we were at Kerala and I guess I was in lower primary school.

I remember the sound of a cycle bell that used to bring joy in abundance to my mom for she always knew that it was her favorite postman who came twice every month carrying the letters of her loved one, her husband who was at Bangalore working his arse off at a Steel company amidst red hot furnace n boiling molten iron.

Those letters were often special coz it brought the warmth of his hand to her cold n lonely chest. Mom used to read the letter aloud to me n my brother, it often expressed the love of my father who at sight used to be fierce n strict. The letter always ended with a thousand kisses to mom! The part that made her blush!

Those letters not just carried words but much more than words, The touch, the scent n the real kisses of love, all embedded in a single blue paper! Guess this is what made the letters and the man who carried em special!

I tread the high mountains, I walk the lonely path with my bicycle,
I cross the streams and the hardest rivers, I fight the evil eyes,
Oh! I walk a long way to your door, to your home, to your heart to smile with you to jump in joy with you and to lend my shoulders for your tears to trickle..
I do it all for, I am your friendly postman!

PS: Good Old Days!