Technology lets us take things for granted ... spare a thought for the old way of doing things.
YOU couldn’t have missed the full-page, colour advertisement in the front half of this newspaper a few days ago. It certainly caught my eye. Against an scenic aerial backdrop of a muddy river winding its way through a dense green forest were the words – “Can a GPS find an incomplete address?”
Below that ... “A postman can.”
Then, a few more words about about how a postman knows his territory like the back of his hand, through years of familiarity with the locals.
It was a Pos Malaysia advert, reminding us that despite all the technology available these days, nothing can quite substitute the “human” factor.
I thought it was a nice one. We’re so swept up and away by the technology around us, we seldom spare a thought for the human cogs that make the wheels of daily life revolve.
Today, in modern cities where people are trapped in their offices or cars through the day, few of us really have time for snail mail, as the popular expression goes. Heck, even at home, the mail in your letter box is mostly the unwanted or unwelcomed kind – bills, statements and demands from banks, credit card companies, or some government authority or utility outfit.
We seldom wait for the postman to deliver news from a loved one; personal mail is now the prerogative of new communications technology. It’s either email or SMS, few of us write letters to post any more. Even greeting cards – birthday or seasonal – can be whittled down to 142 characters on a mobile phone screen.
The Pos Malaysia advert took me back to a time when communicating with people across great distances was a much more personal endeavour – you wrote letters. The postman delivered letters from loved ones to your home. Inevitably, you built up a rapport with your mail man. His delivery times were part of your daily routine.
Heavy rain or blistering heat, he would unfailingly complete his rounds, on a bicycle back then. At least, where I grew up, that was his mode of transport.
The days when I was expecting a letter from my father – who was away most of the time – or a close friend, I would wait anxiously at the gate for the postman to arrive. Sometimes, there would be nothing and the postman would notice me waiting. He would acknowledge my presence with a sympathetic shake of his head, as if saying, “Sorry, laddie, nothing for you today.”
Other times, he could sense he was delivering a much expected missive, and he would cycle up smiling, and hand over the letter. Sometimes, it would be a postal order you were expecting or registered mail. It was usually good news – that was why the postman was so important, so much a part of the good things in your life. Back then, you got worried only when it was a telegram. Yeah, remember those?
These days, postmen may whizz about in motorbikes but their job is no less taxing. We just generally have no time or inclination to stop and think about what they do. They brave the elements even during the fasting month – sometimes, you can see them parked under a shady tree at noon, arms folded across the motorbike’s handles, head on arms, as if summonning some inner strength to complete the job for the day.
Here’s a comforting thought – if all the satellite and communication systems across the globe were to break down simultaneously, you can be assured there will still be a system of delivery by men who will carry the mail to the most remotely inhabited corners. Incomplete address and all ...
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