Not all postcards reached home. The messages, insignificant, timid sometimes urgent strayed and got lost. It always reached somewhere to someone though. But we are all bounded by relevance!!
‘মাইনে পেলে সবটা পাঠিও না।
কলকাতা থেকে টিফিন কেক এনো কিন্তু,
And that’s all!! Post cards were always open to all. Open for all.
‘Don’t need to send the last penny.
But please, remember to bring the tiffin cakes when you come from Calcutta!’
The last line was definitely written by an amateur. The ‘স্বরবর্ন’ and ‘ব্যঞ্জনবর্ণ’, the Bengali alphabets wrestled with each other to occupy as much of the yellow page, as they could. Maybe the tiny fingers awkwardly gripping the pen while jotting down the urgent wish, desperately wanted to overshadow the previous line, the sensible advice which usually comes from the elderly.
Could be someone of my age. I looked at the front and at the back of the postcard, which was never meant for me, neither the tiny letter box which had our address written in chalky white on it’s olive-green face.
Letters were posted then, the pre-email era and after a long winding road, they were dropped through the slits into the small wooden boxes which looked very much like the tiny bird houses they sell it in Home Depot.
One two anonymous would end up at the wrong home, discarded after a quick look.
But the one that I held in my hand that afternoon, needed to reach a man, a dad probably who had someone waiting for him eagerly. Waiting for him and also for those tiny square cakes, which at my home is hardly considered a treat.
I hid it in my school bag. Couldn’t throw it, neither post it. Like some thoughts, hidden deep within us, worried to be delivered and so hard to forget.
They stay with us forever and we carry them willingly.
It is wonderful not to know the ending sometimes and more fun when the faces remain unknown. The letter, with it’s wish list stayed with me for many years, till I grew up to loose to it’s value. Like my friends, I grew up fast only to fail slowly to find the charm in small things of life.
(Artwork: Piu Mahapatra)
We are editorially independent, not funded, supported or influenced by investors or agencies. We try to keep our content easily readable in an undisturbed interface, not swamped by advertisements and pop-ups. Our mission is to provide a platform you can call your own creative outlet and everyone from renowned authors and critics to budding bloggers, artists, teen writers and kids love to build their own space here and share with the world.
When readers like you contribute, big or small, it goes directly into funding our initiative. Your support helps us to keep striving towards making our content better. And yes, we need to build on this year after year. Support LnC-Silhouette with a little amount - and it only takes a minute. Thank you
Got a poem, story, musing or painting you would like to share with the world? Send your creative writings and expressions to [email protected]
Learning and Creativity publishes articles, stories, poems, reviews, and other literary works, artworks, photographs and other publishable material contributed by writers, artists and photographers as a friendly gesture. The opinions shared by the writers, artists and photographers are their personal opinion and does not reflect the opinion of Learning and Creativity- emagazine. Images used in the posts (not including those from Learning and Creativity's own photo archives) have been procured from the contributors themselves, public forums, social networking sites, publicity releases, free photo sites such as Pixabay, Pexels, Morguefile, etc and Wikimedia Creative Commons. Please inform us if any of the images used here are copyrighted, we will pull those images down.