Dr Vikas Jamwal
Is there is any letter for me …? “No, I haven’t written one for you yet” was a routine snub by the stone faced receptionist for a monotonous question we used to ask her daily while back to our hostel, a home away from home. With a sad smile, we used to glare at the front desk of reception, where dozens of mails lay scattered, awaiting to be picked up by those lucky ones, who had been waiting for months to receive any message from their loved ones.
Some contained group photographs, happy moments like marriage, birth and anniversary celebrations to share the exhilaration of any change in the family. Especially on festivals, the greetings, handmade cards with distinctive embellishment, notes, rhymes, and drawings expressing friendship or other sentiments were received like trophies and proudly displayed on study tables or glued on the walls of the living facility, shared with roommates. Receiving such mails was also not an easy task, firstly we have to acknowledge a sanguine who received them intentionally to get rewarded in return with a cup of hot coffee and light snacks, by delivering it to your doorstep as a sign of good gesture, an attempt to make you feel cool. And of course, later you went downstairs, to say thank you to the old grand lady for keeping your letter ‘safe’ for you before it fell prey to other jealous mindsets who do not believe in writing and receiving any communication and simply hide your ‘love leaflets’ and make them public to make you suffer. Many a time we received them censored by curious minds who out of bound became experts in deciphering the encrypted communications between two noble souls. So to make it sure that the sanctity and security of our communique remain intact, we had to bribe the postman to deliver in person or to hand them over our ‘confident’ granny like figure to keep it safe until we won’t receive them by hand. For that act of her kindness, we always pleased her on every big occasion without a miss. At the end of every semester, you prepared a lengthy note like an annual address to parliament, flouting your selective perception of last year’s academic achievements enclosed with a balance sheet of would be expenditure on the pretext to convince your head of the state like dad to pump more money for your next year budget with a copy to your dearest mom citing the persistent reason for your average grades so she could veto him not to debate what went wrong with your marks.
We kept all those letters safe in fond memories of those who took pain to write to us. Someone who took his precious time, gave an incredible amount of respect to make us believe how they cared. The lines inked were more like a testimony of your commitments that you once promised. The delighted and doleful moments of your life that you once shared with your family and friends are unforgettable and make you nostalgic about your past. Those were the days when writing a letter was more like penning down a part of your biography, whilst commanding your pen to write something with clarity of thoughts and consciousness was art because writing is an impression which gives a touch of togetherness and closeness.
The emergence of social media with a rocketing speed has taken down the quality of affection and the intimacy in a relationship. Electronic communication used for commercial and official use is a boon for growth in business and economy but a bane in securing seclusion. Getting connected by means of different apps has made us more insecure and discontented. With a flood of information by every passing moment we are getting less attentive and more impatient. Sometimes it seems like nothing is there to make a permanent mark in our short but beautiful life, a life which is worth more a moment of love than an online mountain of madness.
Excitement to express in writing a letter was more like a passionate student of language courses who tries to impress in writing an essay. The colourful border of letter decorated with attachments on festive days, a note to a pen friend, writing some serious stuff of great concern or a piece of advice to a relation who needs you to feel better was taken seriously. Because all was in black and white.
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