Dadaji’s Turn: Roads, Posts, and Forgotten Places

Chapter 16 – Dadaji's Turn: Roads, Posts, and Forgotten Places

The courtyard remained softly lit by lantern light, flickering against the red-oxide floor and the low walls of the Singh home. The dinner continued—not hurried, but unhurried, like a calm river flowing past memory, laughter, and freshly cooked food.

Ajay's earlier question—"If you could change one thing with technology, what would you change?"—had already stirred the stillness of routine.

Maa had spoken about agriculture. Now, a silence settled again, and all eyes turned to the elder sitting calmly near the edge of the courtyard, a steel glass of water in one hand and his angavastram folded neatly over his shoulder.

Dadaji.

Devendra Singh.

The quiet pillar of the household. A man who had spent thirty years walking dusty trails, crossing swollen rivers, and climbing hill paths to deliver more than letters—he had delivered connection.

Even after retirement, he now served as Head Post Officer in Lucknow, respected across departments and districts. He didn't speak often during family chatter. But when he did, people listened.

Dadaji's Voice: A Life Between Villages and Envelopes

"I was not a rich man," he began simply, "but I was a man people waited for."

Everyone turned. Even the children, their hands smeared with kheer and cumin, sat up straighter.

"I walked with sacks of hope. Exam results, job appointments, money orders, wedding invitations. I walked with tears too—death telegrams, court notices. People looked into my face and guessed whether it was good news or bad, before I even opened the bag."

He glanced at Bharat, his grandson, who sat leaning against a pillar, eyes wide.

"I served this country with my feet. But now I want the next generation to serve with their minds."

Dadaji's Vision: Roads That Don't Vanish, Letters That Don't Wait

Ajay pulled out a small pad and pen. "Mujhe batayein, Bauji. What should we build next?"

Dadaji didn't hesitate.

🛣 1. Rural Road Mapping and Infra Tracking

"Build a system that keeps track of broken roads," he said firmly. "Let villagers send a message or signal to a central office—'yeh sadak toot gayi hai', 'yeh pul beh gaya hai.'"

He pointed gently toward Bharat. "Even a child should be able to report that. One photo. One message. The government should get it in minutes."

Ajay nodded thoughtfully. "Crowd-sourced road maintenance tracking. Simple. Local."

📮 2. Smart Postal Tools for Rural Delivery

"Design a bag that can guide the postman," Dadaji added. "Like a small voice map—not satellite things. Just village-wise directions."

Arjun leaned forward. "Mini-GPS?"

Dadaji smiled. "Yes, but simpler. Solar-charged. Doesn't need the Internet. If I had one of those in the 60s, I could have added ten more villages to my route."

🔋 3. Portable Communication Hubs

"Many villages still don't have phones. When power lines fall in storms, whole areas are cut off for days."

He drew a slow breath. "Every post office should have a small emergency box. A satellite phone or wireless point. Not for chatting. For disasters. Zindagi bachane ke liye."

Ajay murmured, "Post-disaster alert systems... install them with every branch."

🧱 4. Machines for Building, Not Just Talking

"Everyone talks about computers," Dadaji said. "But I say—give us machines that lay roads faster. Bricks that don't crumble. Cement mixers that three men and one bullock can use—even without electricity."

Ajay quickly sketched something on the edge of a paper napkin. "Low-power road-pavers. Repairable parts. Built for rural roads, not highways."

🔄 5. Feedback System for the Forgotten

"One more thing," he added, his voice growing firmer.

"When the government builds something—a road, a post office, a water tank—ask the people six months later: 'Kaam kar raha hai ya nahi?'"

The courtyard hummed in agreement. Even Vandana nodded as she served a fresh roti to Dadi ji.

Bharat's Inner Reflection: A Reborn Soul in Silence

Bharat, though quiet, was deeply awake inside.

"He sees it too," Bharat thought.

"It's not about tools. It's about dignity. It's about making sure the village doesn't disappear again from the nation's mind."

"I was born again for this. I will make the tractors Dadi wants. I will make the voice bags Dadaji imagined. I will make more things—

to fulfill the dreams of everyone here."

He did not speak. But he understood.

The room felt heavy with meaning. He was not just a boy sitting near a bowl of lentils.

He was the vessel of a future that was already whispering to him.

A Family That Builds Together

The talk didn't stop there. Pooja asked if hospital delivery messages could be sent via post. Raghav suggested a stitched map of the district roads. Even Arjun shared an idea of marking danger zones with signal posts made from scrap radio parts.

The younger children, meanwhile, returned to playful nonsense.

"I want to make a kite that doesn't need wind!" Meena declared.

"I want shoes that let me jump to the roof!" said Rohan, nearly knocking over the pickle jar.

Dadi ji sighed, wiping his sleeve gently. "Sabji gira di beta..."

Ajay laughed. "Well, we might need a cleaning robot first."

Still at the Dinner Table

Dinner was not done. It would stretch, like the monsoon night—across stories, ideas, and future inventions.

There were still many voices to be heard. Vandana. Kavita. Nirmala. Even Bharat himself.

But for now, the flame had passed from Maa…

to Dadaji.

And it had lit something lasting.