Where postman never knocks

In this modern era of instant messaging, there is some sort of accountability. If you e-mail someone you can be sure that it has reached the person addressed and that there can be no excuse proffered for not replying, if not immediately, then at least after a decent interval of time.

It's not like snail mail where one could always come up with reasons for letters not reaching by blaming a wayward postal system. The truth was hard to prove however sceptical one was as there was no proof of the mendacious ways of others. Of course, one grew suspicious when none of one's missives seemed to reach a particular destination and yet there were others who always acknowledged receiving your mail.

Was that particular postman's route jinxed? Did he set out to deliver the post only to discover that the journey was fraught with risk to life and limb?

We all know that there's no love lost between dogs and postmen. So, perhaps this house in particular had a vicious-looking dog whose greeting was less than warm and welcome. Or maybe, just maybe, this postman was one of those weirdos one reads about who had no qualms about disposing of sacks of letters by tipping them into a disused well only to be found years later by some adventurous soul.

Whatever may be the reason for the mystery of undelivered mail, there is a limit to one's gullibility. Being an avid letter-writer for years, I have always been perplexed by the unwillingness of others to reciprocate the gesture.

Friends have come up with the most amazing reasons for not bothering to reply. Their creativity has even made me feel a reluctant admiration until I remind myself that I am supposed to be indignant, not impressed.

I grew up in a household where the writing of letters was taken very seriously. It went without saying that the receipt of a letter from a grandparent far away was to be replied to pronto. Saying "I don't know what to write" just wouldn't do. So, one sat down with pen and paper and dutifully wrote to relatives whom one rarely saw, recounting one's performance in school (always a topic of great fascination to the older generation) in elaborate detail, embroidering facts to make them proud of you but stopping short of portraying oneself as a genius.

Then suddenly there was e-mail and somehow the thought of receiving instant gratification was too tempting to resist. So, one switched to this means of communication, hoping that this would make even the most tardy of letter-writers keep in touch frequently.

Unfortunately, I have learnt that a leopard doesn't change its spots. This lot have become so used to procrastination that it has been transformed into a fine art. They know that this time they have no excuse. There is no one on whom they can shift the blame. So, they come up with novel pretexts for not replying.First there is the ominous silence when one wonders if even this new technology has failed you. Are your memorable words hovering somewhere in the ether? Maybe you pressed 'delete' instead of 'send'? The doubts keep growing until suddenly you see the pop-up message. Berating yourself for being such a disbeliever, you open the e-mail only to find a line or two telling you that the supposed friend had been caught up in a whirlwind of events and been swept along with the tide. Somehow reading this only serves to make one angrier.

There seems to be an implication that while others are so caught up in their hectic pace of life, there are others who seem to have nothing better to do than shoot off e-mails at every available opportunity.

There is another category that makes me mad too. The sort who won't bother to reply but insist on sending you a thousand forwards a day. To them I say, 'Don't waste my time with all this trivia. Send me an honest to goodness reply instead'.