The Life Of Letters

On the lost art of letter-writing.

- Anchita Ghatak

Every time I visited my mother’s parents, I would be greeted by the sound of the typewriter. My dadu (grandfather), would be typing, seated cross-legged on a low, wooden bed. What was he typing? Letters. Dadu wrote letters in English and in Bengali. Many of his letters in English were typewritten. There were personal letters to family, friends and acquaintances. There were letters to editors of newspapers and many types of business letters. He was also a scribe to many people—young and old, rich and poor, unlettered and well educated. They wanted him to write applications, complaints, recommendations and petitions. He would listen to them carefully and write what they needed. All this was part of his voluntary role as a community elder.

For most, if not all of us, letters have now become part of a lost past—not only because letters capture moments bygone, but also because we no longer write letters. Regular letter writers usually had a stock of stationery on hand: postcards, inland letter forms, stamps, envelopes, notepaper and glue. This stock was replenished periodically.

My grandfather usually wrote his personal letters on postcards. He wrote neatly, in tiny letters, so that he could fit in a great deal in the limited space. Like many of his generation, he would inscribe the om symbol at the top of his missive. Frugality was crucial for my grandfather. He wrote on postcards because they were the cheapest way to send a letter. Also, he never ceased to remind us to not waste paper! Thamma, my father’s mother, was also a letter writer. Her six children lived in different parts of the country and she kept in touch through inland letter forms.