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The Autobiography Of A Post Card


I AM a post-card. I am made of thick paper. I am 51 inches long and 2 inches broad. My price is seven paisa. I am quite black on one side. I am divided into two haves on the other side. There is a green line to show this division. To the right of this line is printed a seal showing my value and the name of my country. I am used for sending messages from one place to another. I was made in a government paper mill, out of the pulp of a tree growing in a jungle. I was cut to my present shap by means of a cutting machine. I was pocked in bundles of twenty each, and was sent to office of the postmaster General in a big box, along with thousand of my brethren. One day, I was brought out in my bundle of my brethren. One day, I was brought out in my bundle by a clerk and was sent to the Samanaad post office. The sub-Postmaster sold me to an old man. He wrote a long message one me in ink, on both the sides, and the address of his son at Gujrat. Then he posted me face, put me in a bag along with many more, and sent me to the Railway Mali Service. I travelled by train upto Gujrat. Then I reached the City post-office in a bag. Later on a postman delivered me to the son of the old man. He read me several times and, then, put me into his pocket. I had brought him the news of a theft and he was feeling very sad. 

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