Letters

Those yellow worn out papers, stacked in a neat pile, kept carefully in the drawer of my grandmother, had always been an object of curiosity to me. Those are letters written by my grandfather during their courtship period. I just wonder with thrill, how it felt! The would-be bride has seen the would-be groom just for once, in front of a big joint family crowd. But the anxious bride-to-be comes to know the groom-to-be through his letters. Amazing. In some winter morning for the first time a letter came by post that had the name of my grandmother scribbled on it. The letter was carefully delivered by my grandmother’s immediate elder brother. And ah! The shyness. The 16 year old girl quietly tucks it in her blouse…and climbs the staircase of the terrace- the only place that promised some privacy. A thumping heart, a quivering hand, opened the first ever letter that was addressed to her. And out came a script written in beautiful handwriting. It told her a story of a boy of 23, who has joined his medical internship. The trials and hardships, the tensions and excitement, for the first time a stranger spoke to her through words. She was at the top of the world. The ending line- “bhalo theko” suddenly seemed the most beautiful phrase on earth.

Not the face, she fell in love with the hand that wrote. Now it was her turn. Shaky hands, began replying. She did not know how to address. She thought hard, in deep trouble, she suddenly recalled her mother addresses her father “shunchho”. Immediately the sixteen year old lass, wrote a “shunchho” at the beginning of the letter. She wrote about herself, but in that "herself" she talked more about her family members than herself. And as she ended the letter with beating heart she added a “bhalo theko”. Feeling a little guilty, a little lost, she handed it over to her brother. Anxious about the handwriting, anxious about the spelling mistakes, anxious about the language. What if he is angry, what if he never writes again,- all the anxiety were quiet when the second letter followed. This was the beginning of a letter stream!

This was the romance of letters. The touch of the hand, the scribbled mistakes, the blob of ink smeared at some place…so personal…so proximal. Not like the emails we write, not like the sms-es we type. It was a romance of a different level. We cannot give up technology, we cannot do without the mega fast emails and instant messages- communication has evolved to its apex---but still somewhere a little desire breathes, that wants back those heart-beating days of letters, those impatient wait, those thirsting eyes that kept looking on for the postman…Alas! letters thou art passé!