Lost signatures

Then one day my dream came true, I got my first letter. That was way back in 1980. It was from my sister in Mysore. I still remember the envelope with the golden coloured stamp of Gandhiji.

I had to wait for another year to get the second letter. This time it was a New Year Greeting and a few books from my brother. He was a follower of the New Left movement. Those books were children’s literature from China with lots of pictures (and some revolution) inside.

Slowly my circle of friends became wider. We overcame the geographical distance with letters that came once in a while. By that time my brother had become a successful writer and he used to get more and more letters, which often irritated me. When there was no letter, he would be the most irritable man on earth.

Now people like him have changed thanks to the telecom revolution. Despite my best efforts, I cannot comprehend it. The emotional intensity of a letter, I feel, could never be replaced by a telephone call. The repeat value is gone. Then, there is nothing to read between the lines.

There was yet another beginning. Now, relationships developed online. Type it out on the monitor, or edit an old one. Add new information, delete the old ones. The rhythm is lost. So what?

Now, emotion and camaraderie come in bitesized pieces. Dad’s affection weighs 3 kb, the girlfriend’s mush 5 kb. Neatly typed words, edited and spellchecked. But no signature, the doodle that once touched the heart.

Today, post offices are looking for new roles in a world when people are falling in love online, chatting online, scolding online, weeping online.

Me, I still wait for the postman.