A letter in hand

In the digital era, the humble letter still holds a special place in our hearts.

One of the forgotten pleasures of the past is the chime of the postman’s bicycle bell and his cry of “Post!” It was with a leap of joy that I recently heard that shout and went to receive the letter. The postman smiled when he saw me and handed me the envelope. It did not matter that the envelope contained only the minutes of the meeting of our Residents’ Association - the joy I felt in receiving the letter was greater than the joy I feel when I see any WhatsApp messages from my friends.

People used to send greeting cards on Christmas and New Year not so long ago, but now it is all sent on social media apps. One misses the feel of paper in one’s hands and the smell of love. The growing trend to send wedding invitations on social media is probably
justified, as it makes things easier for the parents of the bride and groom. Some wedding invitation cards are huge tomes with many pages, all illustrated lavishly.

It is easier to send such a contraption by WhatsApp than by post. The personal visit to friends’ homes to invite them to major family events like weddings will soon be a thing of the past, especially in a city like Bengaluru.

The postman not only delivered letters but also brought small items like kumkuma or akshate from temples in tiny packets - a courier of sorts. Friends exchanged flower seeds through letters. Editorial letters accepting an article from magazines made many a writer ecstatic. More often than not, it would be a rejection slip accompanying your typed article that would be hand-delivered by the postman.

All letters that are delivered by hand are not always pleasant. You may get a bill that is outstanding or a summons to the local police station by post. My friend recently received an envelope by post, which had a single sheet that said, “Where is Archana?”

Agitated, she called her sister Archana, who is a professor at a remote university in Uttarakhand. As there was no answer to her repeated calls, my friend called one of Archana’s colleagues, who evaded answering her question but asked her to come immediately to Uttarakhand to the university. She took a flight to New Delhi and a train to the university, braving the Kumbha Mela crowds on the way.

Archana had been detained by the local police in a misplaced allegation involving a student and was released after a harrowing week when the parents of the student cleared the air through a letter that arrived, you guessed it, by registered post.