Remaining In Touch

Of late I have been receiving a lot of forwards in my mail. Somehow I feel that they seem quite pessimistic. They do not have a 'feel good feeling', which is quite alright, as the earlier forwards were usually too sugary and sweet and spoke of nothing but the goodness of everything. The earth, the moon and what have you.

Things seem to have gone around a full circle now, as it is the reversal of goodness. It seems as though we are either lamenting the past - how we were, or, thinking about the impending doomsday predicted, or some such other matter. Research is carried out on almost anything and everything that one can percieve of. These days it is not difficult to prove anything. All sorts of information, theory, statistics is available to prove whatever one wants to prove. If one wanted, I am quite sure it would not be difficult to prove that black was actually white and vice -versa.

The internet has opened a pandora's box and e - mails have actually made it much simpler for us to communicate with a whole lot of people at the same time by pressing a small key on the computer. It takes no effort, one does not have to exercise the brain, no thought process is involved, and yet, hey presto! off goes a whole lot of mail throughout the world propogating someone else's theory or thought. A friend, relative or acquaintance gets something in his or her mail box to know that they were remembered. I wonder if one really needs these reminders.

Speaking about myself, whenever I get a forward, I get the feeling of just being a name on a mailing list. I do not actually exist for the sender of the mail except as a statistic.

For me, a personal letter, even a simple one liner which is original and speaks of some thought having passed the sender of the mail is welcome. I went to boarding school at the age of five. I therefore communicated with my parents, my father mostly through regular weekly letters. (We had to write every week.) My father always wrote nice letters to me. He was infact a good writer. However, sometimes his letters were not hand written. He dictated the letters to his secretary, who would type it out and then dad would sign it after adding a few endearments. Yet, I always objected to these letters. I still remember, even as a small child, asking him to write the letters himself by hand. That seemed so much more personal. Dad always used to tell me that he himself had dictated the letter, so the same was personal, but that never convinced me, and my persistence with him continued.

Today, when I see the impersonal mail I receive, I wish that the art of writing personal letters should never die. Our time, thoughts and communication should remain with those whom we care for. Often it is not possible to remain in real 'touch' with our loved ones, as the world has become small. People have spread far and wide, and the only way to remain in touch is through mail. Let us therefore find real time once in a while to write heartfelt messages and get in 'touch' with each other.