| 25 July 2004 | Sunday | 07 Jamadi-us-Saani 1425 |
The old gong at the GPO
Ayesha Masood's poetry
The poor public response that round-the-clock post offices have received, has not at all surprised me, and has reminded me of an old friend of mine, who was always fond of visiting the city's post offices. It was amongst his favourite story themes, wherein he would interpret, through the post office, the state of our society, or what was the quality of governance, generally speaking. He would remind me that like his school banking habit, he had learnt from his school days the habit of going to a post office. I know today that even college students will find this as weird; going to a post office!!!
"Why did he go to a post office?" an obvious question. As a school boy, he had developed the letter-writing and sending birthday cards to his cousins, friends, and even immediate family, as a habit. He became an integral part of that letter-writing culture, and which has presumably continued throughout his life. I haven't seen him for a while, and neither has he written to me. Of course, this silence, as indeed all silence, can make me deeply anxious.
As I contemplate over the disinterested way in which the Pakistan Post Office runs its post offices in the city, and even in the country, I am reminded also of my own life-long relationship with the post offices in Karachi, in particular the New Town Post office. How it moved to various locations, trying in vain to keep pace with the demands of the time. Some of the happiest of my memories relate to simple joys like posting a letter, or receiving a birthday card or a "Miss You" card by traditional mail, with a postman on a weather-beaten bicycle pedalling his life through tired days to ensure that he makes many hearts smile.
Somehow, and for obvious reasons, the story about post offices has evoked nostalgia, in addition to a familiar indignation at the way in which our post office have failed to keep pace with the needs of the society. It also makes one think about the authorities' complacence in the matter, and the poor vision and perception of the bureaucrats responsible for running this utility, which remains unnoticed?
I spoke to several colleagues during the week on what was their experience of the city's post offices. I was somewhat shocked to hear that they had stopped visiting them as they did not feel the need to do so at all. Somewhat incredible that a post office did not form part of their lifestyle, but when viewed in the context of the way in which other options are available it makes sense. Said one colleague Kasim, who resides in the densely-populated Ranchore Lines, that he had stopped going to a post office two years ago.
His comment was illustrative of the failure of the PPO to compete with the times. He said: "people are unaware of the facilities provided by the PPO. Some of those facilities are available at a cheaper rate in the private sector, even though they are 'informal.' What is more worrying and equally well known is the appalling uncertainty about the delivery of mail, or the real fear about pilferage."
Here I am reminded of a personal experience, when a book sent to Islamabad by the Urgent Mail Service (UMS) never reached there. All attempts to trace the book failed, and the postal authorities in Karachi made all efforts to make me feel that I should have sent the book by some courier service, if it was so important. Even the friend I had sent the book to had the same response. I felt stupid once again in life.
Courier services remind us of the way they have grown and how they have pushed out the post office. The strange thing about the PPO management (read bureaucracy) is that it seems to be so complacent that it does not even bother to make its presence felt through an aggressive advertisement campaign through print and electronic media, as many of the government departments have done. Why the PPO had not indulged in the practice effectively to become relevant, is baffling.
The PPO's image is poor, but no one bothers? Let me return to a Dawn story of July 5, which said, "The round-the-clock outlets, opened by the Pakistan Post office, have received a poor public response forcing the postal department to drop plans for opening more such outlets in the city." Now it may be recalled that the PPO had set up four 24-hour postal outlets in November 2003.
In addition to dealing with incoming and outgoing mail, these offices were also tasked with receiving utility bills. The areas were: Defence Housing Authority, Bahadurabad, North Nazimabad and the airport's Jinnah Terminal.
The Sindh Post Master General, M A Mian, had admitted that except for the Jinnah Terminal post office, the other three were not working round-the-clock. In passing one would like to take notice of a story that appeared this week from Lahore, wherein it was stated that the Lahore Chambers of Commerce had said that there was a need to restore the night post office facility in the Allama Iqbal Town.
Interesting situation in Lahore. Someone has spoken out for the 24-hour post office to be restored. No such voice for Karachi's 24-hour post offices to be "restored," and if the absence of security was an impediment, then someone should look into it. Someone in the PPO that is.
It is said that if run efficiently, the 24-hour PPO outlets would not have failed.
Two post offices come to mind here for their odd locations vis- a-vis public utility, even in the day. These are the post offices at the Hotel Metropole and the Karachi Cantonment Station. Both of them have no parking space, even for two wheelers, and under the existing levels of vigilance and security, it is unimaginable how these will ever become viable.
The Metropole (the hotel has been closed down) post office has such a shabby and sleepy look, keeping in mind the posh area where it is located, reflecting the fact that there is not even a single post office building in Karachi that one could say is in keeping with the image of this large city, where new high-rises keep emerging all the time. The very appearance of the post offices disappoints the people to an extent, that, little wonder, many of whom I spoke to were uninterested in even talking about them.
It makes me wonder whether the ill-managed and overstaffed postal service will ever be put to productive use as the years go by. One very obvious use could be to list them as places to receive utility bills, said one resident, who complained that for all the promises and rhetoric of bureaucrats and politicians the frustrations of paying utility bills at banks was very much still there.
Some slight betterment is visible, but long queues in certain areas indicate that paying bills is still an odd task. This reminds me that we still hear stories of citizens' woes when it comes to having their bills corrected once they are incorrect or grossly inflated.
As one looks back into time and the post offices in the city, one is reminded of the dutiful postmen, some having bicycles, and others walked, and walked. I am emphasising this to indicate that there were good men too, and mail was delivered. Then with time came the days when Karachiites began hearing stories of how mail was found dumped in open drains and sewerage lines, or in forgotten corners of the city.
That reflected the quality of the postmen, the enormity of the job, the inability of the postal bosses and bureaucrats to see the times that were coming. In a way that also happened with telephone service, but then came the cell phone to rescue the PTCL, which took a back seat.
Something should be done to wake up the postal bosses, who unlike the managements of other organizations that deal with the public, say little of the plans they have for the future. To say that the public response was poor, to blame the citizens for the PPO's failing, is adding insult to injury.
The public want more and efficient post offices, as not everybody can afford the courier services and not everybody has the internet or the personal computer, regardless of what is said by the IT champions. It is a "poor man's society," and more post offices, which are better run and are secure are needed. As one senior citizen remarked, "what is lacking is vision and will in the higher echelons of the PPO." Transparency too, I might add.
The old gong at the GPO
IF you enter Lahore's General Post Office (GPO) from the main entrance that leads to a massive wooden staircase, you will see, at the entrance, a huge brass bell with the date 1860 written on it. This historic bell was used as a gong when the 'foreign mail' reached Lahore on the 'Government Bullock Train'. The Lahore of the East India Company, then stationed at Old Anarkali, would become alive and the question of the day would be: "Did anything arrive for you?".
This bell would ring twice a week. Once when the mail arrived, and secondly, an hour before the 'foreign mail' left Lahore. In the second case, people would rush to 'post' their letters. The story of the post office and Lahore is a very old one, though there is no doubt that the British organized it on scientific lines after almost 200 years of disruption. Sadly, it is story that is never told, and the Post Office has never made an effort to tell it. The first mention of this service in the known world is references to a postal system in existence among the Egyptians in 2000 BC.
The first use of a postal system in China was under the Chou dynasty (c. 1111-255 BC). A reference by Confucius in the late 6th century demonstrates that it was already renowned for its efficiency: "The influence of the righteous travels faster than a royal edict by post-station service."
The Thurn and Taxis postal system was a privately owned network of 20,000 employees carrying post and newspaper in Europe in AD 1505. So the post office is not a very new concept, and there are references to such a service in the Lahore of Raja Jaipal even before Mahmood from Ghazni attacked the city. This and hundreds of attacks that followed disrupted postal distribution for years to come.
In the sub-continent, a system of carrying messages was in existence during the reign of Allauddin Khilji in AD 1296. But credit for the modern post office as we know it today must go to Sher Shah Suri, who during his short reign of five years, built the 2,000-mile long road from Bengal to Peshawar for use by his postal services. This is where the famed "Pony Express" was actually built, and copied all over the world. He built 1,700 "serais", relay posts where horses were changed. He died on May 22, 1545.
Later rulers of India improved his postal system. Almost 492 of these 'serais' existed in what is called Pakistan today, with the only existing one in Lahore being located just to the east of the Shalamar Gardens and is known as the 'serai' of Mahna Singh. Even the horse troughs exist and buffaloes use it. I have not researched the other almost 300 in the Pakistani Punjab, but it is a subject that the Post Office can try to 'dig out' ... if they feel so inclined.
During the reign of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, the postal service was revived and the Lahore Fort, where the Maharaja lived, was used as the central sorting office. Every letter was read for any intelligence and then distributed through runners who had an office in the 12 functioning gates of the walled city. People in the city started saying likhan di bhool na karna, a wisdom that continued till British times.
To this date, the "special branch" of the police have an office there. Communication has always been a threat to the state, just as it is a boon to society at large. The post office thus became a function run by the police. With the British it changed hands, but in a subtle manner, and today it is an independent service with privacy protected by law, or so we think.
The very first 'prepaid' paper stamps to be seen in Lahore were the 1852 "Scinde Dawks" as started by Bartle Frere, the commissioner of Sindh. The stamps bore the East India Company mark. But in Lahore, the very first stamps to be used by the British were simple 'red sealing wax' stamped with the East India Company mark on it.
One such 'stamp' of 1849 exists in the British Museum. For this reason it was called a stamp. Letters were taken to the post office and after payment the 'red sealing wax' was applied, the letter sealed and stamped. Once stamped, it was considered 'posted', though later the word 'stamp' and 'post' were used in varying manners and ultimately as nouns.
According to a description of Lahore's post office by H R Goulding: "On the site now occupied by the Public Works Secretariat stood an old barrack-like building constructed in 1849, which was used as the General Post Office until the present handsome building was completed...". The reader might be interested to know that this 'original post office is just behind the Tollinton Market in Old Anarkali Bazaar, the second food street as we now know it.
At another place he writes: "In 1876, packages were received at the Lahore General Post Office for dispatch by the Government Bullock Train to 24 stations including Ferozepur, Bahawalpur, Rawalpindi and Peshawar". It is clear that Lahore acted as the main postal artery for the entire Punjab and beyond.
The Punjab Gazetteer of 1916 mentions Lahore as having excellent postal services with 132 letterboxes with the monogram of Queen Victoria on them. These are genuine collector's items today. It might interest the reader to know that almost a dozen of the original letterboxes are still functioning today, and as FS Aijazuddin mentions in his book Lahore Recollected, one can see one of these exquisite letterboxes still in use in Anarkali. I have managed to track down another three in the old railway quarters in Mughalpura.
As the British consolidated and moved their cantonment to its existing one at Mianmir, a slight change in practices took place. The Punjab Gazetteer (1916-p169) goes on: "Mails are conveyed to and from the railway station in mail carts drawn by horses. Two flags are flown at the GPO, a red one to indicate that foreign mail has been signalled at Bombay, and is expected at Lahore, and a Royal Mail Standard (a white one) to indicate the day of dispatch of foreign mail from Lahore."
Once the mail was received, with the flag up, the traditional gong was used as a matter of routine. With time it became merely a ceremonial gong. Some time in the 1950s, with the railways well established and two to three 'foreign mail' dispatches coming every day, the gong went silent. Today in the din of modern Lahore, the bell stands silent, a testimony to a tradition that is probably as old as our city.
Ayesha Masood's poetry
Although a visitor from Islamabad, Ayesha Masood managed to attract a host of local speakers at the launching of her third collection of poetry, Muhabbat Kitni Tanha Thi. Not only that, she had a provincial minister and the chief minister's adviser to laud her creative work. Arranged by the Khwaja Ghulam Farid Sangat in the Alhamra hall, the well-attended function was presided over by poet Munir Niazi, with the proceedings conducted by Dr Ajmal Niazi.
Whereas one of the speakers at the function felt that Ayesha seemed to be greatly influenced by the beauties of nature, most of the others were of the opinion that her poetry was based on feelings of true love. That was why, they reasoned, that her verses went to tingle the inner recesses of the reader's self. Syed Mowahid Husain, the CM's adviser, was more specific in this regard.
Referring to the title of her collection, he said love was a universal theme but its equation with loneliness could not be denied. Elucidating further, he said that it was loneliness that went to create great works of literature and art.
In his presidential remarks, Munir Niazi was all praise for Ayesha's poetry. Referring to the nazms included in her present collection, he singled out Two-seater and Jamhooriat for special praise. Her poetry had life, he concluded.
Iqbal Rahi was present at the function and, as usual, his tribute to Ayesha was in verse. To round up the proceedings, Shumaila Parveen presented Ayesha's ghazals to the accompaniment of music.
* * * * *
I have an interesting book before me today. Written in English and published by Ferozesons quite some years ago, it has come to me for translation into Urdu. The author is Wing Commander S. M. Ahmad, better known as Lanky, and is full of interesting incidents from his flying career. Being the sole survivor of the first GD (Pilot) course, he has given an apt title to his autobiography - A Lucky Pilot.
The book is worth reading but I shall only quote a few passages which would be of interest to readers. This is how he introduces himself and the book:
"In the course of my twenty-three years service in the Pakistan Air Force, I was lucky to meet and observe the great men and leaders of our history. Being a pioneer of the Pakistan Air Force, I am proud that I had the opportunity and honour to see this great institution growing rapidly into a formidable force.
I also happen to be the only lucky survivor of the first IAF/PAF course which forced me to write about a few fatal and other accidents. Without the sacrifices of our pilots and hard work, this air force would never have been the same as it is today."
Coming to July, 1948, the author describes the Quaid's last flight to Quetta:
"I still remember a solitary figure standing in an Achkan and Rumi topi (cap) with a chooridar pyjama and a stick in his hand. He came to see off the Quaid-i-Azam at 4 o'clock in the morning on 26th July, 1948. It was none other than Khwaja Nazimuddin, the President of the Muslim League .... I was the second pilot on this flight which was kept extremely secret until the last moment.
Probably, with the exception of the captain, no other crew member knew as where we were going and who was our worthy passenger. I figured it out only when Khwaja Sahib asked me 'at what time the Quaid-i-Azam's aircraft is taking off for Quetta?' .... After briefing and clearance from the control tower, when we went to the aircraft I was surprised to see a temporary arrangement of white bed sheets which were hung up on either side of the aircraft.
This was so arranged that an ambulance could easily back up to the entrance. I did not see any dignitary on the tarmac, not even Khwaja Sahib who was perhaps the only person who knew the departure plan.
No Air Force officer was present to see off the flight although it was a protocol requirement .... At Quetta, the same kind of arrangement was provided for the reception by the army jawans .... During the next few days I had some more flights to Quetta carrying Dr Ilahi Bakhsh .... Mr Isphani .... the nursing staff and life-saving drugs .... We came to know later that on his return flight from Quetta the ambulance which was carrying him to the Governor-General's house from Mauripur airfield broke down.
It was a foul smelling and stagnant water area of Kemari where the fishermen dried their fish in the sun. This was the last journey of the great leader who founded our country...."