“Take
care dear, Aunt Rohini”
By
then tears rolling down my cheek were palpable. Yes, I was crying, reading a
letter that was sent to me ages back by a person who no longer exists. It was a
small letter, yet spoke thousand emotions. I always wondered if anything apart
from in-person communication or counseling could bring upon a striking impact
on other lives. I neither did have an answer then, nor did I respond to that
short note. Now I know.
Letters
are the personified sheets of pulp that verbalize one’s heart. They are the songs
of immense deliverance giving endurance to face life’s biggest challenges.
Consider Indira Gandhi as an example. Letters, hundreds of them, written to her
by Nehru, made her see the world in her palms.
Later
on I sensed how these actually work. Words, often written than spoken make a
deeper impact, for they never fade away. Sadly, our days are numbered and trapped
under the mercy of social networking sites and technological innovations. We
are organized by reason and logic. Is emotional quotient missing?
Receiving
a hand-written note wishing good luck, coupled with strands of blessings is the
best thing that can ever happen to the habitants of the concrete jungle, who
are lost in a disarray of things. Writing is a dying culture which would be too
late to stop before we realize what we might miss. Rejuvenation is in our hands, take out a sheet of paper and jot
down what comes to your heart and drop in a post box.
Conceiving
of the number of letters I ought to write, and the sparks in the receiver’s
eyes when they would behold, I resigned. I know I am late, but there is always
a first time.
If letters are the articulation of
love, let them be recognized so.
