‘We were the links between lonely migrants, their families back home’

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Till 1984, the postal department had allotted spots inside the GPO for professional writers such as Nag to help illiterate citizens with postal services, including sending money orders, telegrams or investing in saving certificates. Once the practice ended, around 22 writers shifted to the footpath outside the GPO. They were shifted again opposite the GPO under a large tree next to the kabutarkhana after the GPO building was declared a heritage site.

Today, only six men continue to remain in the profession, with at least 30 years of experience. With most postal services replaced by technology, the only work they receive today is to stitch and pack parcels. A recent initiative by the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation, to repair century-old water fountains in the city, could mean these men losing their current space. While they earlier set up their benches under the tree, the civic authorities have now disallowed it. The men now have stools to sit on, which they lock with a chain when leaving post 6 pm each evening. Their inventory, including cello-tape, stamps and seals, are stored in the crevices of the large tree they sit under. The men say that on some days, they do not get a single customer, while recalling their earlier days of not having a moment to spare from work.

For instance, Nag’s customer base included labourers who worked at the nearby Bombay Port Trust, construction workers, women in prostitution and waiters working in hotels in the area, also runaways like him.

“A majority of the customers would come seeking help to send insured money orders. It was mandatory to send a letter along with such a money order, and we would help them write those,” says Nag.

“These letters would usually have directions to family members on how to spend the money. Pay school fees, pay debt to some relative, use this for home repairs, such directions would usually be enclosed with the money,” says Shakil Ahmed, a 57-year old letter writer. Ahmed took over the job from his father, Peer Mohammed. “Since the time I was 12, I would bring my father his lunch after school. While he took a break to eat, I would handle his job,” says Ahmed.

He recalls young boys who had run away from their homes and were working on tea and food stalls around CST. “While delivering food and tea, a few of them had inquired about our work. They had lost contact with their families and only vaguely remembered their home address. That time, we used to have a big diary provided by the postal department of post offices across the country. We asked the boys the names of their villages and helped them identify their postal addresses to send letters home,”says Ahmed.

He says in a few cases, the boys were able to make contact with their families. “Once or twice, family members came looking for their children. We found out who had written the letter among us writers through the handwriting and united the relative with the boys by taking them to their workplaces,” Ahmed says.

Nag, too, fondly remembers being the only means of communication between lonely migrants and their families. “Money was the usual subject in all their letters. We had women in prostitution as our customers. They would usually lie about working as caretakers or salespersons. After a visit back home, they would get letters from neighbours or lovers, asking for money. Such requests also came from villages of labourers and artisans. I sometimes thought they were being fleeced and would ask them to not be so gullible, but would not interfere in their decisions,” he says.

JP Murkar, another letter writer who will turn 60 this September, says he chose this profession because he could be his own boss. “It was a means of earning a decent sum. One could choose to leave early on a particular day or come in late at work due to an emergency. But now, the changes in technology, modes of communication and the banking system has led to very few using our services,” Murkar says.

A sudden reprieve came in the immediate aftermath of demonetisation. “The postal service has an insured money order where you can send upto Rs 20,000 of currency notes like a stitched and sealed parcel. When the notes were changed, many came to us to send money home through that service,” Murkar says.Have a comment or suggestion forOn The Job?