The article “When you pen a letter, you put life into it,” (Open Page, June 27) evoked a flurry of memories I wish to share. Being a civil service aspirant, I shifted to Chandigarh for a year and it was there that I took to writing. Telephonic talks were confined to maa . Although long, they were not very rewarding.
Baba and I started writing to each other. The letters soon became a part of my PG routine, and the postman a regular visitor. The Bengali-English combo letters had a peculiar charm for my non-Bengali friends.
Rupali Mukherjee,
Allahabad
After completing my post-graduation, I got a job in a private bank in Bangalore. I joined in 2008 and I still communicate with my family through handwritten letters and the postal department. Sure, messages on mobile phones satisfy the immediate need but the joy one derives on receiving written letters is something special.
J. Bharath,
Bangalore
I remember how, in the late 1960s, my father once received five letters from his four sons in Andhra Pradesh and a sister in Maharashtra in a single post. And I remember how happy I was. He got an invitation from the then Senior Engineer, M. Gopalarao, Nagarjunasagar, through a postcard dated 14-8-1966 for the inauguration of the dam by Indira Gandhi. It is still with me.
Somana Ganapathi,
Rajahmundry
I am a Gandhian. I respond to almost all my communications and attend or send a greeting to all the invitations I receive. I know that my letters in my mother tongue, Kannada, are unreadable. Yet they are an acknowledgement of the receipt of an invitation. Whether or not the recipients understand my handwriting, my gesture is appreciated.
Gandhiji's letters, in Gujarati and English, were in his own handwriting. It was because of his response to every communication that he represented everyone who knew him. There were few striking out of words, fewer explanations and nil repetitions. Even those who oppose Gandhism admire his communication skills.
K.C. Kalkura,
Kurnool
