The Forgotten Art Of Writing Letters

“Those were the days!”, my aunt gushed as she rummaged through her box of memories. Searching among the folded letters- some protected by the moth balls, while others that succumbed to the vagaries of time- she took out an envelope. As her face turned cherry red, she spoke softly, “This was the first letter your uncle wrote to me.”

As I held the letter in my hand, moving my fingers over the words in order to feel their magic, I got lost in the land of letter writing. I tried to picture it all, with little anecdotes provided by my aunt. She relived and I imagined the excitement in the locality, as the khadi-clad “dakiya” came on his bicycle, ringing the bell 

as he unloaded the stack of letters from his basket.  The postman handing over the letters was thanked over and over again, warmly and genuinely, and often, invited in for a cup of tea. The excitement was followed by an anticipation as the old and young alike waited with bated breaths, hoping that atleast one of those letters had their name on it. The euphoria of receiving a letter addressed to oneself led to the curiosity- did the words contain news of a new arrival, the announcement of an unexpected end or something in between? Everyone dropped their day’s chore and surrounded the piece of paper, as one member of the family read the words out loud. Letters that were not meant to be read aloud were tucked away into almirahs or hidden beneath pillows, taken out only when the moonbeam started filtering in through the windows. After the letter had been read and re-read countless times, began the search for the right words to formulate a reply. The ten-minute walk to the post office always seemed to last for hours, and the anxious wait for a reply for years.

As I came back from the trance-like state into the world of instant messaging, I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic for something I didn’t even have. However, I decided not to turn a not yet into a never, and wrote a letter to my friend who lived in a different city. The experience of writing the letter was lyrical in itself.  The way it had to be divided into 3 clear parts- a beginning, a middle and an end- had parallels with life itself. Although I took an auto to the post office, and was given a tracking ID through which I could monitor the movement of my letter online, the nervousness and anticipation that I felt was the same my aunt had felt writing her first letter many years back.

If you happen to read this, dear reader, pick up a pen and write one yourself- to a pen friend, a long-distance lover, an author you idolize, someone on whose face you want to put a smile. Experience the joy of the forgotten art of writing letters, if only for a moment, and give a new beginning to something that’s facing its ending.