A Letter For Me Poem by Amar Agarwala

Been ages since I've received mail
And not that I received any today,
But the mailman interred in this yard
Whom I met quite by a twist of fate
Mentioned something, when he saw me.

He gave tidings which has left me
A little apprehensive and anxious too.
Said, that he had carried a mail for me
To my erstwhile residence at the
Bow Barracks about eighty years ago.
But it couldn't be delivered
For the sentry on duty had informed
That the addressee - that is ‘Me' was dead!

‘How on earth did you remember? '
I asked him a trifle flabbergasted.
He smiled and mirthfully replied:
‘Well, I distinctly remember the name
Lt.Winston Southey, for it was War time
And Winston Churchill's name was on every lip
Besides, Southey also happens to be my surname.'
He added, ‘Being a mailman I had
This strange penchant with names and addresses.'
A fact I completely endorsed and wasn't sure
If I needed to laud him for it.

He left saying, ‘Perhaps it was from a lady -
Kathy Thompson. Thought I ought to give you the news,
For its better late than never.'
My eschewed heart missed a beat, ‘Kathy... goodness me.
And what happened to the letter? ' I blurted out.
Undelivered letters were, as a rule then,
Sent and kept at the - Dead Letter Office.'

He was kind enough to leave me the address
Which was once called Dalhousie Square.
Later rechristened -R.N.Mukherjee Road.
The building - a neo-classical structure
Yet stands there and is hard to miss.
It now happens to be a landmark
And a major tourist attraction of this city.

I verily thanked the mailman - Mr.Southey,
For he had left me with fresh hopes
At being reunited with my beloved - Kathy,
For I'm sure she has penned a returning address.

Now I am left with a strange errand -
When the clock tower strikes twelve at midnight,
I often visit the - Dead Letter Office.
It now stays locked and barred.
But I know my undelivered mail rests there
In some forgotten corner
Bunched along with dead stationary.

But there are just too many old cupboards
And closets and frayed piles of
Of wasting, rotting undelivered mails
Which lies unattended in that disused office.
And despite my best efforts, I have till date,
Not been able to locate
That letter from my sweetheart, Kathy.
I am hoping against hope that it has not
Been devoured by white ants or hungry rodents -
For there are one too many there.

But I cannot give up this last ray of hope
For my Kathy was estranged from me
When I was sent to war.
But deep at heart I always knew she loved me too.

She must have taken pains to find out my whereabouts
In India, and sent me a few pages from her heart.
I have arduously awaited her precious words -
Through the war and the endless years that have followed.

I am not surprised when I meet others there too
They seem furiously sifting the piles of junk
Almost unrecognizable with smirch and dust,
Trying to find their undelivered mails
Perhaps from family, friends, sweethearts
And God alone knows who.

And I believe, it is a well known fact
In the city of Calcutta,
That - The Dead Letter Office is haunted -
How I wish the living understood our plight!
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