Alas, No one visits me anymore!

A. Q. Siddiqui

Once upon a time, I used to be the cynosure of my locality. Heavy rains, hot sun or chilling winter days never deter my users visiting me. I knew the hands that dropped within me. Some were so lovely, some elderly and often a few very young. I have also noticed a few anxious onlookers waiting to ensure that my man comes and lift my contents.

Those were days when I used to be a landmark in my locality. But now I am standing at this corner forlorn, covered by dust and weeds engulfing me. No one visits me anymore!

You must have guessed by now who I am.

I am the abandoned mailbox on the corner of the street. So many changes have taken place in my locality. Most old houses have been rebuilt, and many converted into multistoried buildings. I do not know how I have survived an unscrupulous builder’s onslaught.

I heard such builders in many localities had uprooted many of my brethren. Yes, they consider my entity as useless now. But do you know, once upon a time I was a necessity all over the country? I used to be there in many prime locations in each city. Some areas, I used to be stuffed so much that I would suffocate and waited impatiently for the mailman to relieve me. On some locations, I used to be empty. But I used to be proud of my existence everywhere.

Do you know, perhaps I have seen more Heers and more Ranjhas in my lifetime than anyone in real life. I remember even the father of the nation, Mahatma Gandhi personally used me. The Indian Prime Minister Pandit Nehru too used me as I was standing next to his residence. There were so many, film celebrities, sportspersons, scientist, artists using me, and I carried their hopes, aspirations. I was hope for many aspiring writers. They used to drop unsolicited handwritten manuscripts to well-known magazines.

And then there was that school teacher. He lived in my locality. Daily, before leaving for his school, he will drop a letter to the editor. There were famous writers, cartoonist and columnists for a renowned newspaper, but he was unique. He was a letter writer. Perhaps his name was known to all readers. Almost 3 or 4 times a week his letters were published in letters to the editor column. His name was as known as any columnist’s. Those days journalism has ethics and codes. Even letters to editors were published after scrutiny.

These days political parties have IT, cell writers, for giving irrelevant, vulgar and full of hatred comments after any report.
And lastly, I want to mention that mailman who used to pick my contents. After so many years he came to me yesterday. He looked so old and weak with a grown white beard as weeds growing around me. He touched my head and stood near me for a few minutes. And I felt he was saying me nobody cares for you when you are not in use. He was as lonely as I am.