You got mail....

I remember a time in our home when we didn’t own a phone line. Neither did we have television in our country. Not to mention, mobiles and internet were like that funny stuff that only happened in Isaac Asimov’s brilliant books. Those were nice days, frankly.

Then television came to India. This was the early 80s. We didn’t realize that we were sitting ducks for an invasion more unbelievable than anything we had read even in Star Trek books.

Yet there was an innocence and child-like feel to early television. No one spoke things they ought not to be saying on national TV, or through any other mode of communication, for that matter, women were more like what God meant us to be, regressive TV soaps hadn’t assaulted our senses, and young people didn't mouth profanities and do scandalous stuff in out-of-control-shudder-inducing reality shows.

But before that could happen, we welcomed with open arms more infernal gadgets with much greater insidious powers than television could ever muster. The internet and mobile revolution were already seeping into undiscovered territories of our uncluttered minds.

Today, I can’t lift my finger without clicking something. The fun part is I’ve caught myself clicking buttons when I didn’t need to be clicking them. It’s a habit. Sad and mad.

So, here’s my resolve for the next three weeks – I will reduce my interface with technology and try and get back to manual modes of doing things as much as possible. I am not swinging to the other extreme and packing my bags for the cave ages, just reducing the unnecessary static.

Honestly, there is still a lot we can do without clicking buttons. I want to try out this experiment. I shall report back if there are any significant withdrawal symptoms. I am not ruling out uncontrollable twitching fingers and deep depression, coupled with the feeling of falling into an abyss of desperate disconnectedness. Or maybe...not.

Till the recent past, we walked over and met people when we missed them. Now we SMS them. And yet I have decided to be brave and do some hard work. Like my parents used to. Is that why they still have well-wishers from forty-five years ago who don’t mind crossing continents just to meet each other – face-to-face. They are also the ones who still write letters and send cards.

With such bolstering thoughts, let me venture nervously into the real world again. Please do respond if you get a rescue call from me to get me my virtual fix. Maybe, I got mail! 

PS: Just in case you get curious: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isaac_Asimov

The magic of pen and paper

A few days ago, I had the privilege to show my gratitude to three amazing people I know professionally.

I did what I have become accustomed to doing, and has sadly become my second nature. I began to type on my computer a 'thank you' mail. Two things happened in quick succession - I couldn't string even three heartfelt sentences and when I read my impoverished mail I felt nothing!

Everything about my email felt uneasily still...no feelings stirred when I read my own lines and gratitude seemed like one more thing I could tick off on my burgeoning list of professional 'to dos'.

It took no effort at all to know what was wrong. I realized, before my computer became second nature, paper and pen had already been loyal companions for long years. Though, I sought them after ages, like old friends, they came to the rescue.

As my fingers curled over the pen, something beautiful happened. With stunning ease the words flowed, and the writer in me heaved a sigh of relief. Gratitude had finally found its transport and happily jumped on. I wrote three separate letters that evening. Each unique from the other. An opportunity lost with the faceless cut and paste.

Felt the thrill of 'real' writing after years. Not the least of which is neatly folding a letter and slipping it snug in its envelope, then flipping it over and carefully writing the address, and finally, making the effort to post it. Hoping on way back that it reaches safely. The delay of its reaching and the wait for its response has an unparalleled excitement in our world of communication.

An email is too swift to savor all the ups and downs of communication, and brings back a reply too quick to tempt anticipation.

I might be writing more letters now. And I hope I get some, too. It's been so long since I expectantly peered into my mail box to see the glimpse of a white envelope with my name on it.