When I left London early this month, David Cameron's government was under fire for allegedly undervaluing Royal Mail by nearly £7 billion to sell shares cheap to crony bankers. When I reached Kolkata it was to find the already ailing India Post limping closer to oblivion. As Gokhale knew, today's Bengal is India's tomorrow. If the postal service is dying in Kolkata, it can't survive for long anywhere else in the country.
But few seem to bemoan or even notice the slow mortality of an essential public service. And this in a state that once resonated to the throbbing rhythm of Runner - Sukanta Bhattacharya's evocative poem about the postman who carried letters but never received one himself set to music by the immortal Salil Chowdhury. The song is even more moving than Rudyard Kipling's ode to the postal service, The Overland Mail, whose imperial bombast overpowers its human poignancy. But poetry doesn't run the post. Pillar boxes do. And they are disappearing.
Before leaving for London three and a half months ago, I used to drop my letters in a sturdy round pillar box on the pavement of a broad dual carriageway with tramlines down the centre and shops on either side. I couldn't find it the other day. The box had gone. The large shops facing it disclaimed all knowledge. They directed me to a bright new box, squat and crimson, whose maws swallow up not letters but mobile telephone payments. Eventually, I found a patch of broken pavement where something circular had been uprooted. One of those youths who idle away a lifetime on pavements was able to enlighten me. Yes, a post box had stood there. It had broken down and "they" had removed it. Who were "they"? He had no idea. In Kolkata, it could have been an adventurous scrap metal dealer. I don't underestimate them. Many scrap metal dealers make a lot of money. Some migrate to Britain where they make even more money and buy membership of the House of Lords.
But India Post was the more likely culprit. One box less means fewer letters to clear, sort and deliver, less work all round. This isn't the first pillar box to suffer. One, I know, has lost its top and become the neighbourhood rubbish bin. Undelivered letters might still be rotting among its fish head and vegetable remains. The envelope I slipped into another box the other day promptly peeped out from a slit in the rusty bottom. Several neglected receptacles advertise long-forgotten special services such as QMS.
The dak is not new in this country. We had relay couriers as early as the first century; Akbar institutionalised them. But post boxes were an European innovation. A facility that can be traced to 17th century Florence now seems destined to meet its doom in Kolkata.
The chattering classes will immediately bleat "Who writes letters anyway nowadays?" They comprise only a fractional sliver of 1.2 billion Indians. The majority can't afford courier services. Fancy communication channels such as e-mail, SMS, Twitter and Facebook are beyond their ken. It's the same with every other facility that the state is supposed to provide. Governments are expected to run not only the posts and telegraphs, but also transport, water, electricity and garbage clearance services. In Britain, Clement Attlee added health, housing and education. Successive Indian governments claimed also to provide jobs. But many official claims are as illusory as the profitable public sector copper-producing company.
The story is worth repeating because of the sleight of hand it reveals. The state-owned Hindustan Copper lost money each year while the British-owned Indian Copper made good profits and regularly issued rights and bonus shares. One fine 1972 morning the government appropriated Indian Copper, merged it with Hindustan Copper and, hey presto! the public sector suddenly boasted a profit-making copper-producing corporation. Employment is another mirage. It would be fine if official activity creates jobs that generate wealth. But inventing them is camouflaged dole. The state might as well run soup kitchens.
A proliferation of cars, private water tankers, captive generators, garbage handling firms and courier services suggests the government's retreat from public service. Edward Heath would have called this another "unacceptable face of capitalism." Even Galbraith's post office socialism has become irrelevant. The cheaper aerogrammes survive (unlike in the US or Britain) but are scarce and tatty. India is often called a rich country of poor people. It would be more accurate to say it's a poor country of rich people. The rich needn't post letters.
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