Passport to anxiety

RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE

That monsoon day, in the July of 1968, my British boss’s mood was fouler than the weather. Two days earlier he had given me his passport and asked me to mail it to the British Deputy High Commissioner’s office in Madras for renewal.

And now he had suddenly dropped a bombshell. “Did you send my passport by registered post?” he queried casually. I hadn’t and said so with some apprehension. “What!” he thundered, his face reddening alarmingly, “You sent off such an important document by ordinary post! How could you be so negligent?”

I had no answer. As I was overworked, I had badly goofed. Then, quite unsympathetic to my predicament, the Brit thoughtlessly fired another salvo. “If that passport’s lost”, he fumed, “you’d better start looking for another job!”

I was desperate. Lacking a trunk telephone, there was absolutely no way I could contact anyone in the DHC’s office from the very remote tea estate where I was posted. I skipped lunch and, despite the downpour, hotfooted it to the post office four miles away —only to be told by an indifferent clerk what I already knew, no record is kept of unregistered mail. I slept little for the next seven days, agonizing over the fate of the passport. On the eighth day, a buff envelope arrived, addressed to my boss. It bore the DHC’s office address in Madras.

My heart began to pound audibly. Was it a reminder that the boss’s passport was due for renewal and should be sent immediately? I decided I somehow had to read the contents before he did. My sanity hinged on it. Thankfully, the boss was away. Sliding the blade of a penknife under the flap, I carefully opened the envelope and read the letter.

The passport, it said to my utter deliverance, had been received and would be renewed shortly. It went on to advise that, as a matter of abundant precaution, passports should always be sent by registered post.

Relief was writ large all over my face (and my boss’s later) as I carefully slipped the letter back and re-stuck the envelope. Of course, I realised that the unauthorized opening of personal mail was unethical. But I salved my conscience, saying the end sometimes does justify the means!