4 hours and a visit to the tailor later, I mailed my packages.

I left Shimla and am now in transit to Varanasi for an intensive Hindi course. More on that later. For now, here's how I spent my last day in Shimla:

Naturally, I couldn't take everything in my apartment with me, so I had to ship some stuff home. I put everything in two cardboard boxes and headed to the post office, thinking this would take only 20 minutes.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

At 2pm, I arrived at the Sanjauli post office to find my landlord's wife Geeta staring at me from across the counter. This was my first surprise: I didn't know she worked at the post office! I thought she worked at a bank. Anyway, Geeta informed me that the Sanjauli post office does not send "parcels," as they call packages here in India. "But it's the post office's job to send mail!" I insisted. "No parcels." "But parcels are mail! The post office sends mail! Therefore the post office must send parcels!" "No parcels." "But you received my parcels when my mom mailed them from the US!" "No parcels. Go to Shimla."

I went to the Shimla post office--not that close, by the way, especially when you're carrying two boxes amounting to 18.8 kg. En route I passed a few private couriers and decided to check them out, but they were all absurdly expensive. So back to the post office plan.

I arrived at the Shimla post office with my two packages, certain that these people would be able to send them. "Seal?" the postal employee asked me. I was prepared for this, I thought. I purposely kept my packages open, because in Delhi they had opened up my box anyway to see the contents. I knew not to waste any tape this time, and I assumed the guy was asking me for a seal because he saw my boxes were open. In response to his seal inquiry, I smiled and held up my tape. "I have a seal!" I exclaimed triumphantly. A look of confusion crossed his face. "No, not tape. Seal. SEAL!" Now a look of confusion crossed mine. "But... tape does seal the parcel. Tape is the seal." "No, no, SEAL!" then rapid-fire Hindi that was too fast for my slow mind to comprehend. Luckily Harsh was with me, so he explained that the postman was telling me that I needed my parcel wrapped in a very specific white cloth, said cloth must be sewn and not stapled, and a "M.O.M." seal made of red gooey stuff would have to be stamped along the seams. Now this sounded familiar to me; when I sent a package from Kolkata in June 2008, the postman there wrapped and sewed my package for me (but this had not been required in Pondicherry in November 2007 nor Delhi in June 2010). I handed my packages over to the guy, assuming he would do all this. But no no no, I was told to go to a tailor.

Thus began the hunt for a tailor with the right cloth--not just any ol' white cloth, mind you, but a very specific material--and MOM seal. I went to the alley of tailors in Middle Bazaar below the Mall and had to visit several tailors before finding one with the right material. First the tailor asked me to come back tomorrow, but (a) I wouldn't be in Shimla the next day and (b) I'm not leaving a box with semi-valuables at a tailor's!! I insisted it was an emergency, and he agreed to do the job right then and there. But the tailor took AN HOUR AND A HALF to wrap the packages. I have no idea why he took so damn long. In Kolkata, I swear it took the guy about 5 minutes. AND the tailor charged me more than I pay for a salwar kameez. Ridiculous.

And then the tailor didn't have the MOM seal. Even though he said he did. So I had to run around with my packages to find another tailor who did have the seal. Luckily, he turned out to be only two doors down.

Finally, FINALLY my packages were ready. I RAN to the post office--and I do not like running--to mail them. I showed up at 5pm, and the post office closes at 5:30pm. Barely made it! I thought. Or did I?

"We don't accept parcels after 3pm." "I was here at 3pm, and you didn't tell me that. And there is no sign that says that. The post office is still open." "But we don't accept parcels after 3pm." "Why not?" "Because that's when the day's parcels are sent." "So? I don't care if you send them tomorrow. Why can't you accept my parcels and just send them with tomorrow's batch?" "We don't do that, madam." "But that makes no sense." and the conversation went on like this for a while.

Then I remembered: this is India. When you keep your voice at normal decibels, nobody listens to you. I turned into the madwoman I would never recognize in the States but I so often turn into in this country. I yelled at the postman, telling him the whole story, starting from Sanjauli. I think I ended with "why on earth does one have to go to a TAILOR to MAIL a parcel?! and if you're going to require something as stupid as white cloth, then why don't you provide the wrapping services yourself?!" The postman sat there stunned (I think my ranting in English--when I'm flustered my Hindi pretty much goes out the window--was way too fast for him to understand), and he sent me to the postmaster, the guy in charge of the post office (and no, he was clearly not intending to get his superior involved before I raised my voice). Harsh came with me to explain the situation in Hindi, and the postmaster agreed to send the packages. By this time it was 5:30pm and the post office was closing. This of course led to another argument, because the employee didn't want to stay overtime, but I won. It took a surprisingly long time for the guy to register my parcels in the system, but at 6:02pm on March 11, 2011, my packages were put in the mail room for delivery.