CHENNAI: It must have been early 90s. The verandah of our ancestral house in Malabar Kerala, echoed often with the sounds of the postman Velayudhan, standing with a cordial smile and the letters for my mother from my father, who then, was a teacher in Assam. From afar, he would flap the envelope in the air, gesturing there was a letter that day. He, sometimes, was invited for a cup of tea, a way of thanking him for the letters.
A few years prior, he used to deliver my father’s letters to my grandparents. They had stories of a narrow escape from the tremors of earthquakes and the descriptions of the relentless floods in Assam.
I have grown up hearing stories of these ‘letter days’, as I like to call them. My parents’ memories have become unforgettable stories that my mind plays like a movie with fascinating frames of a fictitious era. This postman, the postal service, and the letters, undoubtedly, were part of my parents’ everyday lives.
From writing incoherent English sentences on inland letters and struggling to read some incomprehensible Malayalam words under my parents’ guidance, to writing letters independently, letters have probably taught me to think and given me the permission to be real. This way letters seeped into my life, too.
This blue inland letter was preferred by ordinary people for writing, as C Unnikrishnan, a retired postmaster, says. When he joined the postal department in 1982, letters were the only medium of exchanging news. With barely a telephone in a village, there were numerous letters stacked up in the post office every day — from expatriates in the Middle East to the army men from the borderlines enquiring about their families.
However, he says telegrams were used to convey a piece of urgent news, especially deaths. He recalls a disheartening incident of breaking the news of a merchant navy officer’s death who was in Istanbul, to his loved ones.
Unnikrishnan’s wife MN Lathadevi, a sub-postmaster, has been working in the postal service department since 1988. She remembers frequent writers and addresses that became familiar to her. She says, “Letters of longing to be at home were written to the parents from their children studying in Navodaya (a boarding school), there were cards that contained the sadness of separation.”
A shard of memory she recalls even today is that of the grieving lonely old man who showed her the letter they (he and his wife) wanted to send to their three children, informing them that they were donating their entire property to an orphanage.
Lissy, who came to Chennai in 1978 after her marriage, says letters were the only way to communicate with her parents; to know if her siblings were studying well. “I used to eagerly wait for the postman to come and deliver letters. It would take a month for their responses to reach me,” she reminisces.
When telephones became a part of many lives, the conversation shifted to audio. While some stopped writing entirely, some never could break this habit. As freelance illustrator Ammu Abhirami says, born in the tail end of the 90s, the letter is one of the most precious things she has received. The then eight-year-old Ammu, would sit with her Amma and Leela (grandma) and contribute to the letter they collectively wrote to her uncle, who used to work on a ship, travelling all over the world.
She fondly recollects, “I would scribble “enthond ammava vishesham” (How is it going, uncle?) at the bottom of the page, or sometimes would write, “kaise ho mamaji” to show my lacking prowess in Hindi.” They had to plan it ahead so that he would have letters waiting at each port when he landed. “We have saved the last letter he sent my mom a day before passing, in decent, but broken English.”
A space of intimacy
Letters for some are a way of keeping the memories alive, whereas for some, it is about feeling the sender’s surroundings, being able to see thoughts in their tangible form, and being able to sense the touch and smell of their beloved. Ammu Ghosh, a student, says that the concept of the person writing the letter and the process fascinates her. She says, “When we send a text message, we just type out the letters that are already there on the keyboard. But while writing letters, the person is writing what they feel in that moment in their handwriting.” She believes that the most personal things like the handwriting and sometimes the ink’s smell, make the process of letter writing the most intimate and the tender most form of communication.
Lisa Anthony, a journalist, who feels that letters are permission to let the other person see the vulnerable side, too, says, “Through letters, you invite the reader to witness the mundane, the bright, the ecstatic, and the disappointing parts of your life, as if it has happened right in front of their eyes too.”
Symbols of love
Dried flowers, sketches, and paintings are Jeeva Narayanan’s love language. Jeeva, a VFX compositing artist, says, “When using an inland letter card, I would tuck in a few dried flowers after finishing writing and then seal it. I draw pictures on postcards or stick dried flowers on them before sending them. Tell me if there is anything more beautiful than kissing a postcard goodbye and picturing the joy on the receiver’s face as they hold it close.”
Like humans, letters can be chaotic, with some struck-out words, overwritten texts, and amorphous patterns formed by the blobs of ink on partly withered and worn papers, and yet can be beautiful. Bibith Joy, a freelance writer, says, “I get happy when I see that the person writing to me has cut out something; that they have chosen to cut a thought or change a thought midway.
Because that shows to me that they are thinking of me — of who I am and how I would have responded to what they would have written.” Embracing this flawed charm he says, “I am suspicious of a well-written, clean letter without any cuts. It feels like distance, like each word is not thought out but calculated, as if they are putting on a mask.”
An ordinary paper can carries a piece of one’s heart, and captures the routes of the wild, wandering, and a free mind. As Ammu Abhirami says, “I don’t back-up WhatsApp texts, but I have saved every single letter I have received. I might even grab it if my house is on fire.”
I wonder how many of us might just do the same.