The letter speaks

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Times were there when I was the most adored thing in the world. I had the charm to bring that smile which was hidden under the shadows of wait. I was a question of well-being and news of welfare. I was an abode of tears which travelled miles. I was a letter. You must be familiar with the term. Aren't you? You must have read me with joy or shed in anger or hugged me in your arms with amour. You must have waited for months to make me travel to your dear ones to speak on your behalf. Indeed, I smelled of passion binding the people together. I was the epitome of blissful evenings. You would sit over the porch, softly mumbling through my beautifully adhered words, staring in the sky and sending your heartfelt thanks to the dispatcher. I was your pal in the lonesome nights where you would miss your dear ones sticking me to your warm heart. I remembered the man, who kept us in his brown sling bag and carried me and my fellow friends to our destination. He used to adjust his glasses and gazed upon me and wondered in the busy lanes and handed me over to my possessor. They called him the Postman. But I often thought he was Santa in disguise who worked the three sixty five days delivering happiness. The aura of my essence often filled my heart with pride. Noble English men, young maidens, assiduous boys, pen friends, caring well wishers and longing parents created me with such immensity that I molded into a cart of vivid emotions. The Rich often framed me on appealing papers and dressed me in a fancy envelope. While the poor wrote me on cheap postcards. No, Im not differentiating. What mattered to me was the attention I gained despite the economic and social differences. I was adored by all and the sentiments were same to me. The journey of my life covered numerous phases. Once I was the only way conveying messages and greetings. I came to life when they note me down on paper or a post card with attachments of love and bunch of emotions. I covered the world and crossed many hands before I finally reached my destination. It wasn't important on the part of the sender as how far he was able to proclaim his words but the reader who decided whether to read me over and over again or throw me away in rage. Thus my fate was a swing which motioned in the atmosphere of somber and exorbitance. A very crisp memory I remember is of a woman who wrote me to her son. She spoke about her health and how desperately she wanted to see him. I remember myself getting cold in her hands as her numb face gazed upon me. The fine wrinkles expanded all over her pale skin and deep agony filled her eyes. The last thing I recall was being thrown away in the trash. Maybe he couldn't relate to her intentions which I persisted. I drifted myself miles away to give the good news of a new job. I covered lands and seas to seek the attention of a forgotten friend. I crossed borders to convey good wishes. I posed the curse of tearing the heart by saying I was no more. The charm worked as I evolved slowly. Starting as a mode of interaction among few people, I gained popularity. The funny part was that I failed to find the existence of the feeling I brought. Whether it was the wait on the door or was the unafraid soul resting by the window. Maybe it was a bright hello or a dark goodbye. Sometimes I made you feel the happiest on the planet and other times I made you hate the world. Indeed it was confusing sometimes to understand the emotions. Some might take me as a welcoming gesture while other times I was torn apart in disgrace. Today I wish to write a letter to my younger self. As they say, Time never remains the same. I saw my time changing too. Sarcastically asking, where did my essence vanish? Why I no longer embraced deep words? Why I failed despite being the only mode of communication? Oh sorry! It is not anymore. I soon had my competitors. And then I had been replaced. The pride I had in my heart shattered as the era changed. I can't exactly sum up as what went wrong; the fault of the long time of my arrival or the length of words. Speaking about the wait, the world today failed to understand its worth. Today its all about short cuts and lightening fast results! And the volume of words? It's no longer about asking or seeking but only about informing. How do I even expect them to understand me when they found much more quick ways. Modern times welcomed modern inventions. It promised to save their valuable time but little they knew it saved the blissful part too. No, I aims complaining. How would a sinking ship boast of its strength? I am almost a closed chapter now. And closed feelings as well. Walking towards the path of existence, I wondered where the world is heading. Yes, progression speaks of modernization. But then I wonder where the headway will lead to. I longed about the old times, travelling around the world, bearing whispers of affection and wishes of heart. How I carve to meet my old mates again; sit for a cup of tea and getting drenched in the memory lane. Every of my letter and postcard mate has his own share of stories to tell. A fellow letter once told us about how he was kept in the closed drawer before finally being sent to the destination. The writer, a young lad kept his heart sealed with love for a girl and thankfully he managed to open up to her at the end through me. Another interesting story I heard was about a student studying medicine but secretly wished to be an artist. He respected his fathers decision but then he finally managed to write my fellow mate to him and talk about his ambitions. His father was furious but finally agreed. These were the stories which, despite making me disappear, contented me. I was the shade of courage where one would face his mislaid feelings. Through me people managed to talk about their passion and problems; hopes and aims; fear and fondness; ideas and executions; plans and results. No, I am not boasting as I no longer held the concession of addressing words. As it is said Once the king of the jungle, lion is eaten by ants after it dies. The end of my life witnessed many phases. As I mentioned earlier: Competitors. They went on the onset to the bitter path of rivalry; on the track of the contemporary world to reach the end point of time. The postman was expected no more. He no longer hurried around finding my destiny. A smart chap called Fax was new to the town followed by the terrific Telephone. People were delighted to have them. How fast their works were done! No writing down or long waits. You can talk to anyone anywhere within a few seconds. Such was the power of machinery. Some populace no doubt, supported me. But then good days didnt last long. Within a span of time, I was an overlooked history. I no longer smelled of ink and was dressed in an envelope. People no longer bothered to remember the addresses or the birthdays. Not anymore were the postboxes filled with folded feelings. No longer was the sling bag heavy. Here, I can recall another event from my last days. A gentleman sat down to write me to his superintendent as he fumbled with his words. I wanted to say,” Its okay. You are doing well.” But then he crumpled me in his hands and threw me away. He then took some coins in his pocket and left. Sometimes I wonder what if the Almighty one fine day decides to write me down. He, the creator of this wonderland and a hallucinating track merged with passions, maybe someday wakes up to find the innocent dreams turning to frightful nightmares. He would then pay a visit to the Earth or most probably write me to the mankind. He would ask why the concerned creatures are now turning into awful animals; the love he bestowed was turning to an ugly lust; the lovely togetherness were transforming to nasty desires; the brotherhood and harmony are being replaced with guns and goons. The creator of this massive World would fear of his own obliteration. Those were the glorious days when I rested upon the cradle of hope, wait and yearning. Anyway, today I thought of paying a visit to my great-grandparents, dwelling in the state museum. They address the words between the Presidents and hence, are valuable documents. A matter of irony, I would say. The Human race may have somewhere elapsed to greet and welcome but Im contented with the little time I have spent among them. I am a forgotten friend now. I was a letter.