Having route marched 5 km with our backpacks, at a hot and steamy 10.30 pm, on our arrival back in Mumbai.....long story we'll save for a night when we have a few bottles of wine.......we'd both reached the conclusion that we could manage with fewer clothes. A sort through the various bits we had brought resulted in three small parcels of clothes which were destined to be returned to the UK. We had already bought some large plastic envelopes so we could send back anything which we were tempted to buy and didn't need for the trip.....and a roll of sellotape, so all prepared we thought.....Oh no.....Indian mail had other ideas.

Armed with the three parcels suitably wrapped we headed to the main post office. We walked past three different security personnel who didn't seem too worried about checking anything we were taking in and entered the grand building. The counters were arranged around in a circle in the middle of the room, with more counters around the edge. There was also a further section off to the top ( for collectors stamps and savings accounts as far as we could make out).

Anyway eagle-eyed as always we spotted a window displaying the words " assistance and enquiries", so headed there first. "We have three parcels we need to post, which counter do we go to?" In good English, she replied that we needed to fill in a customs form for each parcel and then take it to the parcels section at the end of the building. All ok so far......we head off to a ledge where we can complete the customs forms.

It's a bit tricky to write on paper when you are constantly dripping all over it, so it did take a while. While we were filling it in two men approached us to tell us we needed to have the parcels wrapped again. Aware of the Post offices parcel wrapping service we weren't too sure if they were just trying to get custom, so told them we would check whether this was required when we had done the customs forms. Whilst two of the parcels had sturdy plastic bags one had a brown paper outer cover so admittedly may have looked a little flimsy.

We agreed, in the end, to go with the little guy to get the parcel wrapped. He led us out of the office and across the street. John was becoming increasingly panicky that the guy was just touting for business and disappearing to his shop with the parcel. Avoiding motorbikes and taxis to keep up with him we were taken to a row of men across from the Post Office, each sitting under a tree at their own small table. This was the Post Office wrapping dept.

The chap proceeded to wrap all the parcels separately in cloth, and hand stitch the seams together. A work of art by the time he'd finished although there would be a huge queue in Daventry Post Office if it caught on back home. John was given the task of writing on the addresses both of the recipient, and the sender. There was some confusion as to where the respective bits of information had to go, and more than once I heard John say "but you told me to write it there". I have every expectation that they will be delivered back to the hotel here!

In between all this, I had been instructed that I would need six photocopies of my passport and 5 copies of the customs declarations, not three as we had originally been told. So I had to trot off to get 6 photocopies and another two customs forms. Eventually, we were handed our three parcels, beautifully clothed in Gandhi cotton and addressed to home - and parted with the 80 rupees x three, for the service.

Back in the main Post Office building, we discovered one of the parcels was slightly heavier had to go to the main parcel section which, fortunately, was in the same building. After dutifully handing over the parcel to a very nice man, supplying the relevant customs and passport copies as required and handing over 1600 rupees we left the first parcel in the care of the Indian Post office.

All starting to work now we thought. Following the instruction from the 'parcel wrapper' to take the parcel to a counter in the middle we took ourselves back into the main body of the Post office. We found an unoccupied clerk and showed her the parcel whilst asking whether this was the right desk. As she proceeded to ask what was in the parcel, we were interrupted by the voice of someone behind us. It transpired that, like Tesco's cheese counter, you need a numbered ticket from the token machine. This was the first we had heard of this, and a first in India where queuing is something unheard of we were keen to follow procedure and headed off to find a machine. A very inconspicuous machine, with the word tokens on it, produced a ticket when prompted - so happy that we had now got a number we went to sit and wait.

Eventually, our number popped up, and we headed off to find we had been directed to a counter on the outside of the room. " Do you want speed mail?" asks the clerk. "No we came to your counter as the machine told us to. We just want the cheapest way to send these to the UK." "I need copy of passport". she said. That's ok, ti thought, passing the sheet of paper through the hole in the glass, we've got that. "What's expiry date?" she said - presumably only able to speak a bit of English but not read it. Then she disappeared to consult with someone else. On returning she goes on to ask "what's In the parcel?" We explain it's just clothing. This apparently isn't enough and she has to cut off the customs note securely tied on by the parcel man in order to satisfy herself, before tying it back on again with the little bit of string now left.

Exasperated by the process, when she disappeared again I grabbed the parcel and passport copy and headed back to information. The lovely lady there agreed to sort it out, and after exchanging a few words with the officious clerk she left us to carry on.

For the next stage, the clerk says she needs a mobile phone number. We explain we don't have one. (A long story goes with that one too-so I'll save that for a wine night ) She then wants evidence of where we are staying. Fortunately, at this point, I can produce a hotel business card which she proceeds to attach to the passport copy. Writing the details on the form apparently isn't enough, and NO I can't have the card back. Eventually, we get to the point of weighing the parcel and she tells us each parcel would be 8000 rupees. I didn't dare ask how long it would take to get home. If it's as long as it takes to post it I reckon we could be home first :)

Congratulations if you got to the end of this rant. It took us over two hours to post the three already wrapped parcels so I guess there was always going to be a lot to say. If I had realised it was going to be so much time, effort and money I would have just hung 'em on some railings with a big "Free" sign in Hindi. The street folk of Mumbai could have had a field day turning 'em into shelters. The stupid thing about all this is that the total price for postage would have pretty much paid for me to replace my other front crown. Anyway, it's not all negative. At least it will give Hayley a couple of days of entertainment trying to get into them if they make it. :)