The sun shone sunnily the next morning. Not milkily, not shyly, not sulkily, but sunnily. With a burst of energy, the kind that comes over us like a frisson sometimes, I set out for Bhimtal. The reason behind this excursion is my aversion to buying books from Amazon. No, there’s no bookshop in Bhimtal, only shops with student supplies.
In my war against Jeff Bezos, I ordered books from a Delhi Bookstore. They’d been supplying books through the lockdown, even sending them to the house in Delhi after I paid digitally. So we went through the same procedure, I chose, I paid and he promised to courier them to Sage Cottage. Except it wasn’t as smooth because the courier companies found Sage Cottage too remote.
How remote can it be, considering shopping arrives in a day or two when ordered on Amazon, Flipkart or Nykaa. My coffee comes from Landour, Mussoorie and they used India post. The post office is at the bottom of the hill, the postman walks past my cottage every day. He delivered coffee beans and specially ordered seeds with approval and gossip. He also needed my signature in triplicate.
The orders of cucumber sunscreen, an extra jacket, warm white E 27 bulbs (which I had to order because everyone here prefers hideous cool white bulbs) were all delivered by the courier boy with a big smile and a small chat.
Bahrisons Bookshop didn’t trust India Post and went with DTDC. DTDC found the 11 km to Sage Cottage from Bhimtal too far so I headed out to get my books. Driving along in the sunshine, contentedly breathing in the mountain air, keeping a close eye out for wildflowers I would like in my garden, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the morning. Cruising along, I saw a sight that is not so uncommon in the city. Two men on a motorbike, the one at the back holding upright a long pane of glass. A sight so dangerous I looked at the two with admiration, realising suddenly that the main rider was my carpenter Rafik. That was my window pane they were transporting so riskily. Halting the car, I yelled over my right shoulder, ‘Are you going to my house?’ He yelled over his right shoulder, ‘Yes.’ We’d passed each other and the road is too twisty and narrow to turn a car. It’s also impossible to turn a motorbike with a pane of glass for a sail. Hence the conversation over our right shoulders.
He carried on to a locked house. I carried on to Bhimtal. I was on a mission and I couldn’t turn the car. I might as well have because the DTDC courier office, which doubles up as an optician on the main road of Bhimtal didn’t have my packet. He told me that he’s been the DTDC office for 16 years but last year a second one sprung up in Bhimtal. This second courier guy can’t be bothered with delivering things. He asks people to get them from his office. I got the coordinates of his office when he informed me that the office was closed and would only open in the afternoon. Enraged, I raised my voice. He promised to deliver to Sage Cottage.
I returned home to find Rafik had accessed the skylight from outside the cottage, by placing the long ladder parallel to the ground from the slope of the hill and walking across it as mountaineers walk across crevasses when attempting high peaks. The cracked glass lay on the grass and a new, pristine, whole glass nestled in the window. What a hero.
Photo by Mandy Beerley on Unsplash
Some things got done. Some didn’t. I still haven’t got the packet of books. Do you think Jeff Bezos has bribed every courier in the world?