‘Short and sweet’ was only an idiom for us when we were young.
Anyone who grew up writing letters — in the prehistoric times before the worldwideweb age — was accustomed to filling pages with details of our daily lives, our joys and sorrows, what thrilled us and what did not. And we chose whom we would write each thing to: a great deal about our feelings to our friends; a highly censored version to our parents; a half-way story to a sister or a brother (who knew when the last bit of cake on the plate — or something as innocuous — would cause a major falling out and they would spill the beans to our parents): but even with all those qualifications, our letters were never short.
For those for whom we had special regard (or with whom we had special secrets to share) we used several thin sheets of paper and a stamped envelope. For others, a standard inland letter form was fine.
Inland letter forms of that ‘era’ were easy to read without tearing them open. Thus, when the postman came to the hostel, with a slight flip of the flap, we peeped in to check out in what frame of mind father or mother had signed off. If there was a final: ‘Promise you’ll be careful about where you go and with whom, my girl,’ we would know the contents of the inland may not be to our liking. There were bound to be comments about other transgressions in the body of the letter — and we did not need to handle admonitions not to be out after dark just as we were on our way out and planning to stay out late. Better by far to read the letter after a day or two — when we had done with our outings and had forgotten our ‘sins’.
Adequate supply of letters
Not reading their letters — or not replying to them — was out of the question: especially since we were waved off from home with an adequate supply of stamped envelopes, inland letter forms and even an aerogramme or two in case we were expected to write to a cousin or aunt who resided abroad. No, there was no excuse to escape letter-writing, even for the most reluctant writer.
Dutifully, through the years we were away in college and later at work and still later after we left home for good, we penned our twice weekly letters to our parents. Sometimes oftener — if we received a particularly enjoyable missive from home or there was some special news that was entertaining or exciting.
There were no reminders from anybody, instructing us to write or to keep in touch. It was all a part of the deal. You were away. You wrote home. Even if you had just gone on holiday or you were on tour, as father often was. Our parents didn’t treat our letters like a big deal and neither did we. So we never knew how much those everyday, commonplace letters we sent home meant to our parents. Did they read and re-read them and keep them under the pillow — until the next one came along? That is certainly what we would do — had we something in writing from our beloved children. Unfortunately, we don’t.
All we have are terse ‘Arrived’, ‘Received’, ‘Happy New Year’, via SMS or WhatsApp. How infinitely precious, therefore, is an unexpected e-mail with a ‘Hi Mama’ or a ‘Love you, Mama’! We cannot keep it under our pillow — to be read and re-read at will — but we can mark it important and we can open it every morning as our motivator for the day, and then glance at quickly each hour, on the hour...
Short and sweet has taken on a whole new meaning for us.
Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.
