"How wonderful it is to be able to write someone a letter! To feel like conveying your thoughts to a person, to sit at your desk and pick up a pen, to put your thoughts into words like this is truly marvellous."
― Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood
I fondly remember the excitement of getting a letter addressed to me. Before opening, I would assume the role of Sherlock Holmes and look at all the tell-tale signs on the letter, visualizing its journey till it reached my hands. Inspect if the stamps had some interesting uniqueness to be added to my collection, was there a scent to detect, predict who the sender was by the handwriting on top of the envelope before confirming by the address at the back … savour the moment and then tear it open carefully to read and revel in the content. It was almost ritualistic.
If an envelope arrived near ( not saying 'on' because mails sometimes arrived before or after and seldom on the particular day) my birthday or the New Year, I would be expecting beautiful greeting cards with handwritten messages and some smuggled notes- the paper money kind. Oh, what joy!
The most common was the inland letter – a specifically folded writing paper of light blue colour, which was glued to ensure the discretion of communication. Every letter carried a distinctive character and style of writing. My Amma-in-law's inland letters would be filled with side notes, endnotes and margin notes tucked into every fold. It was the most delightful, optimum and enticing use of the paper. Some of us would supplement our writing with imperfect drawings or perfect caricatures arrowed between lines (the predecessors of emoticons?)
The letter also invariably carried one's mood, some disorganized thoughts, some disorderly writing and sometimes stains (accidental or deliberate.)Everything was marked for eternity on that piece of paper. Between the coming and going of letters, many a lives and loves would be lost. Letters brought strangers together and made strangers of friends. Many letters also would get lost in transit, giving unexpected twists to life stories. Sometimes you would write something and forget and it would come back to haunt you in the reply causing surprise or embarrassment.
At our house, nothing less than a ceremony followed every letter which was brought in by the postman, mostly in the afternoon. The letters waited patiently for Amma to come home from work in the evening. She would get ready with a cup of tea, seat herself comfortably and read it aloud to Achan (or Achu as he was fondly renamed by his granddaughter), poring over all the details. Soon a discussion would ensue and some portions would be read again, some points argued upon and some clarifications noted down. Then the letter would be saved in a letterbox to be replied at the earliest. Achu had the addresses of all friends and relatives neatly typed out and ready to be used. He was also very particular that the reply should be sent without delay. I think he was made more for this era of electronic speed. He believed that not replying to a mail promptly was like not continuing a conversation and that would be extremely rude. So, we learnt to write - we wrote to express and sometimes impress, we wrote to make friends or to comfort someone, we wrote with joy or as a tedious chore but, we wrote.
Letters were seldom trashed immediately. They were kept safe for reference and some saved for years, becoming a legacy of sorts. We still have a box of letters holding some treasures. And the generation of our parents even today, hold onto anything which comes in the mail, even if it is a wedding card, and tuck it away safely. The awe-inspiring moment of holding a withered and yellowing piece of note written by a long lost friend or relative is incomparable and something which is lost to the generations to come.
So, what are some of your memories about writing letters?
In my next blog, we will try and look at the academic aspect of writing letters and reflect on whether it is an obsolete skill or worth reviving.
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