When you grow up with a disabled parent, you tend to develop a certain degree of patience. At age 17, my father, Walter, contracted polio. Although he was one of the lucky ones to survive the illness, he spent much of his adult his life battling PPS or “Post-polio syndrome” – a gradual breakdown of nerve cells in the spinal cord (motor neurons). As my Dad’s legs got increasingly weaker and more spindly – he was forced to use first a cane, then two canes, then a walker, and finally a wheel chair. As long as I can remember, I would patiently help him up and down curbs and accompany him, slowly, wherever he was going, my elbow extended out for him to lean on.
Over the years, I picked up a Buddhist meditation practice as well. You would think, therefore, that I would be one of the most patient people on the planet.
Perhaps. Until, that is, I met my match at an Indian post office.
It’s February, 1988, Delhi, India. Needless to say, after traveling around Asia for 5 months on a world trip, I’ve acquired quite a few souvenirs: carved figurines from Bali, batik sarongs from Java, lacquer cups from Burma, wall hangings from Rajasthan. To lighten my load, I need to send some of my precious treasures home.
Hey, there’s a post office across the street! I’ll just make a quick stop inside, ship my stuff back to California, easy peasy.
Not so fast. Not so fast at all!
Although most Indian post offices today are fairly quick and organized, back in the day sending a package abroad would have tried the patience of the Dala Lama himself.
I start at counter #1, where the clerk determines the correct-sized box for my souvenirs. After receiving the correct receptacle, I’m told to go stand in front of counter #2, where my box will be wrapped. That’s right – they have to wrap my parcel in cloth as if it’s a sensitive little baby going on a long solo journey. If the line at counter #1 was slow, counter #2 is both longer AND slower.
“Why do they have to wrap my box anyway?” I ask my neighbor in line, tapping my watch impatiently. “I’ve already been here an hour!”
“Baksheesh.”
“What do you mean?”
“Many steps, many people receive a cut.”
After my package has finally received its cloth wrapping at #2, it is hand-carried over to #3, where a clerk melts red wax onto each junction of the folds of the cloth. A coin or button is then pressed into each lump of hot wax, ensuring veracity of the seal (I suppose). No one really explains the process to me.
This takes another hour, and I assume, another payment of baksheesh.
But are we done yet? Oh no. My precious cargo now goes to counter #4, where it needs to be wrapped in twine because, why not?!!
Another long hour later, it’s finally time for the stamps and the address. At this point, my fingernails have made permanent indents in the face of my watch. This is years before smart phones, mind you. I don’t have Candy Crush or TikTok to distract me. It’s just me, my impatient brain and the Kafka-esque machinery of the Indian postal bureaucracy.
Me: “Excuse me!. I’ve been here for 3 bloody hours. Why is this taking so long?!!”
Clerk
Epilogue: After 4 hours that I will never get back, I finally watch my wrapped and swaddled box slide down the mail chute, gently nudged in the direction of America. It arrives at my home 5 months later!
I can only imagine the number of hands laid upon it along the way…and the amount of baksheesh exchanged!
(If patience was in short supply before the distractions of smart phones and social media, it’s even more tightly stretched in today’s fast-twitch world. We expect everything to happen immediately! Why isn’t this webpage loading! There are so many commercials on this video! Are we there yet, Dad? The solution, of course, is mindfulness. Even a half-day stay at an Indian post office can become an exercise in self awareness as you tune away from the externals and move your attention inside. What is going on in my mind as I wait here? What thoughts are arising? What emotions? Where am I feeling this in my body? Do the physical symptoms of impatience (tightness in the throat, chest, or stomach) minimize over time, especially as I watch my breath? What causes them to intensify?
When you treat every situation as a mindfulness exercise, even a long stay at an Asian post office becomes a fascinating journey. As a general rule, stay curious. Stay engaged. And don’t forget the baksheesh.)