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Pulley and postbox

The spread of ‘net’ has taken away the joy of the writing and sending letters. To gain something, you have to lose something !
Appa used to write letters, mostly post cards or ‘inland letters’
and ask us children to post it, put it in the letter box, which was just opposite to our house, on our  side of the road. And he used to confirm that we did insert the letters into the mouth of the post box. That red colour post box used to give me the impression that it was not a metal box but someone standing there, mouth- opened to receive whatever we inserted into it. I didn’t like its blood red colour and greedy mouth.
The terrible noise of the big wooden pulley, used to roll bucket down and up to pull water from the well was also unwelcome and even somewhat frightening for us children, at night. No doubt it did a good job by helping the bucket to come down to the water level and going up with water, but why proclaim so loud about its service. One should do silent service. Appa used to ask the servants to oil the joints.
Then, they were the shadows of big trees in the backyard and at times, an owl perking on a branch and making horrible sound. It was a bad omen for the elders but nothing bad happened except the fear induced in us.
Due its size and cold water it provided for drinking, body washing and cleaning vessels, our well had an affectionate nick name, ‘Kamalalayam’, though there was no lotus in it.
The neighboring shops used to collect water from it and my mother used to call it Olavakkode Ganges !

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