For a while, after the colonisation of emails, WhatsApp and the like, I tried my best to write and receive letters. I did that for a while knowing fully well that I was trying to fight for something of the past that used to once fill me with joy. Some of the ways I did this was trying to write to friends and coaxing a reply out of them, passing notes in books and attempting hand-written notes whenever I could manage. As the colonisation spread rapidly, I was also affected. I stopped writing letters while still romanticising them and trying to act like a 'Save Letter-writing' warrior. Though I was still reminiscing letters and coaxing people to write letters to me, I did not write them. Whenever my mom sent any parcel from Chennai, she used to send some hand written notes of love and care; Sometimes my sister would also chip in few lines or write a paragraph. The note always made the cockles of my heart warm and goey with love.
I reconciled to the fact that save these notes, there won't be any letters in the future. But I make sure that I talk about the joy of letter-writing to everyone and sundry and make them yearn for something they don't even know (referring to my students who have never written any letters ever). I feel fortunate that I was given this pleasure and that I experienced to the fullest possible in diverse ways - through pen friends across the globe, post-crossing, letters to students/friends/strangers who promised letters and so on. I still possess some of the letters and time to time read them not for its contents but for the warm feeling of something that used to exist but has passed away.
Recently, I watched a film, The Six Triple Eight on Netflix which was a drama based on the first all-black, all-female battalion in World War II. They had the formidable task of delivering 17 million pieces of mail in two months. Watching the film, my nostalgia for letters was triggered making me teary and longing for those days of yore when there were no emails and WhatsApp to convey messages. How those days kept us grounded yet anxious without making us restless. Well, the film was a lovely one where the joy of receiving mail after ages made the soldiers yelp with joy and tears.
Two weeks ago, I tried coaxing someone who I met in a book group to write to me whenever they send me books. They agreed but doing something out of the blue is something that does not come easily for us and so I (the eternal optimist) have still not given up though the realists would thrash my hopes of getting a letter by post.
What are your thoughts on my hopes of getting/writing a letter?
