"It is a lovely language, but it takes a very long time saying anything in it, because we do not say anything in it, unless it is worth taking a long time to say, and to listen to." (Treebeard, From The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers by JRR Tolkien)
I love the sentiment expressed by Treebeard. If one has something worthwhile to say, one should take the time to say it well. And those hearing it should take the time to absorb it. In the age of instant messaging and Twitter, this probably sounds incongruous. I mean, even if one says something halfway profound, others may instantly 'like', forward, or 're-tweet' it. It will reach thousands, may go viral and so on. A few may truly appreciate it. But it will certainly be replaced by the next soundbite that comes along and forgotten the next day. So why bother spending time on it?
It is hard to believe that a mere twenty-five years ago, we kept in touch through hand-written letters. Phone calls used to be expensive, often requiring operator assistance, and email was unknown. Letters were the primary means of long distance communication. With letters, we had to wait for days to receive a reply. The waiting heightened the sense of excitement and anticipation and made the actual arrival of the response more satisfying. As you read the letter, you imagined the writer's voice speaking the words. A simple description of the kitchen garden producing tomatoes painted a vivid picture in your mind. You filled in the gaps in the news from that side, because you knew how the uncle in question would have reacted to it.
Taking the time to write a letter does not necessarily mean a lot of pages. In fact, often we had limited space as in an aerogramme or an inland letter. How to convey all the news and other stories of interest within that was a challenge that required some serious application of mind. In addition, a letter cannot read like an essay. It has to sound conversational. It needs to convey information, but communicate at a very personal level. The stories may be newsworthy only to the sender and the receiver, but some letters become public documents. While letters by famous people have been published as books, I doubt if emails will be cherished in this manner. Imagine a book titled, 'Barack Obama - Collected Emails'!
It was not just letters from friends and family. There were also others offering admission or employment to anxious students or job applicants. And then there were the money orders delivering cash at your door step. Talk about convenience! In the villages, the postman often played a role in the actual communication beyond merely being the carrier to the many who could not read or write. He was a virtual member in their families! He would read the letters to the recipients and would also transcribe their replies. You have to marvel at the level of trust between the postman and the villagers. The postman was probably privy to many of their personal details. But then, there were few secrets in the village.
Receiving a letter from a foreign country was especially exciting what with the colourful stamps, postmarks, and various stickers - 'By Airmail', 'Par Avion', etc. that were affixed on them. It was airmail then, but the same thing is called 'snail mail' now. Since you wrote only once in a while, there was much to say. The occasional mix-up in the mail provided some excitement as well. One of my letters to India was sent to Indonesia by mistake and then made it to its correct destination a couple of weeks later with cool markings from different countries received from the long journey.
It is little wonder then that the arrival of the postman used to be awaited with much excitement. Nowadays, I cannot say that I anticipate the postman's daily arrival with such eagerness. In fact, I sort of dread it, for I know that almost all of the mail today consists of marketing flyers, offers for credit and so on; in short, junk mail. I thought I could just throw it in the trash, but a friend warned me of 'dumpster divers' who manage to retrieve sensitive information and use unsolicited credit card offers to open accounts with stolen identities. I stopped throwing junk mail away after that. But this has resulted in a new problem. I am now in danger of being buried in junk mail.
With the scare of identity theft, I have been collecting mail offers and now must find a way to dispose off them. I have bank statements dating back a few years. I bought a shredder and started to shred them, however, the accumulated backlog of several years made this a daunting task and almost impossible to get ahead of the flood. I have now changed all my account settings to stop receiving paper statements, but unsolicited junk with scary potential to be misused continues to pile up. I have to take boxes of old junk mail to a nearby facility for shredding.
Today's technology has indeed been a blessing. At the same time, I wonder if we tend to consider things that come easily as not very valuable. A quick email or message deserves a quick reply, no more. The flip side is that any delay in acknowledging the missive creates the impression of indifference or neglect. It can even lead to needless worrying over the welfare of the other person.
I suppose we must accept that as with everything else, change is a constant. But I do miss the hand-written letters. The physical act of putting pen to paper has a level of involvement that cannot be matched by today's instant communication. The fact that the letter is actually transferred to its destination, travelling hundreds of miles, I think, enhances its value. I see the hand-written letter as the equivalent of Old Entish described by Treebeard above, in today's world.
Perhaps, I could keep writing letters by hand just for the sake of it. And sing with the Moody Blues, "Letters I've written, never meaning to send".
I love the sentiment expressed by Treebeard. If one has something worthwhile to say, one should take the time to say it well. And those hearing it should take the time to absorb it. In the age of instant messaging and Twitter, this probably sounds incongruous. I mean, even if one says something halfway profound, others may instantly 'like', forward, or 're-tweet' it. It will reach thousands, may go viral and so on. A few may truly appreciate it. But it will certainly be replaced by the next soundbite that comes along and forgotten the next day. So why bother spending time on it?
It is hard to believe that a mere twenty-five years ago, we kept in touch through hand-written letters. Phone calls used to be expensive, often requiring operator assistance, and email was unknown. Letters were the primary means of long distance communication. With letters, we had to wait for days to receive a reply. The waiting heightened the sense of excitement and anticipation and made the actual arrival of the response more satisfying. As you read the letter, you imagined the writer's voice speaking the words. A simple description of the kitchen garden producing tomatoes painted a vivid picture in your mind. You filled in the gaps in the news from that side, because you knew how the uncle in question would have reacted to it.
Taking the time to write a letter does not necessarily mean a lot of pages. In fact, often we had limited space as in an aerogramme or an inland letter. How to convey all the news and other stories of interest within that was a challenge that required some serious application of mind. In addition, a letter cannot read like an essay. It has to sound conversational. It needs to convey information, but communicate at a very personal level. The stories may be newsworthy only to the sender and the receiver, but some letters become public documents. While letters by famous people have been published as books, I doubt if emails will be cherished in this manner. Imagine a book titled, 'Barack Obama - Collected Emails'!
It was not just letters from friends and family. There were also others offering admission or employment to anxious students or job applicants. And then there were the money orders delivering cash at your door step. Talk about convenience! In the villages, the postman often played a role in the actual communication beyond merely being the carrier to the many who could not read or write. He was a virtual member in their families! He would read the letters to the recipients and would also transcribe their replies. You have to marvel at the level of trust between the postman and the villagers. The postman was probably privy to many of their personal details. But then, there were few secrets in the village.
It is little wonder then that the arrival of the postman used to be awaited with much excitement. Nowadays, I cannot say that I anticipate the postman's daily arrival with such eagerness. In fact, I sort of dread it, for I know that almost all of the mail today consists of marketing flyers, offers for credit and so on; in short, junk mail. I thought I could just throw it in the trash, but a friend warned me of 'dumpster divers' who manage to retrieve sensitive information and use unsolicited credit card offers to open accounts with stolen identities. I stopped throwing junk mail away after that. But this has resulted in a new problem. I am now in danger of being buried in junk mail.
Today's technology has indeed been a blessing. At the same time, I wonder if we tend to consider things that come easily as not very valuable. A quick email or message deserves a quick reply, no more. The flip side is that any delay in acknowledging the missive creates the impression of indifference or neglect. It can even lead to needless worrying over the welfare of the other person.
I suppose we must accept that as with everything else, change is a constant. But I do miss the hand-written letters. The physical act of putting pen to paper has a level of involvement that cannot be matched by today's instant communication. The fact that the letter is actually transferred to its destination, travelling hundreds of miles, I think, enhances its value. I see the hand-written letter as the equivalent of Old Entish described by Treebeard above, in today's world.
Perhaps, I could keep writing letters by hand just for the sake of it. And sing with the Moody Blues, "Letters I've written, never meaning to send".
