When Emotions Took Shape As Words

There was a hurricane of activity in the hallway. The atmosphere was exuberant. Ignoring all the frolic, Monika sat at her writing desk and stared at the speck of dust on the window pane, without diverting her gaze even for a second. That tiny speck seemed to take in the myriad eclectic emotions that churned in her heart and created a whirlpool. The paper that lay on the table fluttered in air and made a tapping noise each time in stroked the table. The clock ticked at its pace oblivious to the turmoil in her heart. Her mind was flooded with memories. Both good and bad. She was married at the age of twenty one. Dave was a good man and a wonderful husband. He was everything she had asked for. Two years after their marriage, they were blessed with their first child. She had given up her full time job and worked at a quaint cafeteria in their locality for a few hours everyday. She juggled between her role as a new mother and a part time employee. Her pregnancy glow was replaced by the grime and angst caused by the newly acquired responsibilities. 

During their fourth year of marriage, they were blessed with another child. Tiya was joyous on knowing that she was the elder sister who got to boss around her sibling. John was the quieter of the two. He was more sorted and balanced. He was Monika's ray of hope. She had trusted that he would be there for her in her twilight years just like she was there for him in every walk of his life. Her birdlings developed wings and as much as she enjoyed watching them take their first flight, she dreaded the time when they would leave her nest and build a small world of their own. A few years passed. She was engulfed by the mid life crisis. It was when Dave suggested that she wrote letters. He had gifted her a stack of colorful papers and a set of pens. Letter writing for her was a form of journaling. She wrote letters to her younger self. Her eloquent words spoke about what she missed. She wrote reassuring letters to her older self hoping that they would act as a guiding light in the years to come. She wrote letters to Tiya and John, some of which were read and the others were left unopened. She never inked any letters to Dave though. Her feelings for him were to be felt and understood and not written or read. Dave was good at that. He understood her unspoken words, gauged her camouflaged emotions and wiped her unshed tears. Their hearts beat in synchronization with one another for almost four decades until one morning when Dave's heart stopped. He left the mortal world and took a part of Monika with him. His death shook the earth beneath her. Like sand slipping away from between the fingers, she had begun to drift away from life. Sunrise didn't carry a ray of hope for her any more. The days seemed gloomier and nights felt darker. 

Loneliness and distress took a toll on her well being. Six months back, she slipped and fell in the bathroom and injured her hips. She was hospitalized for a week and Tiya and John took turns to nurse her back to health. She returned home but her health was status quo. John and Tiya couldn't visit her regularly. They were busy building a little cozy world of their own, a world in which their mother had no place. So they had chosen the easier option. They left her in a convalescent home. The home had nurses and doctors who took care of her. A physiotherapist helped her with her exercises and she was slowly limping back to normalcy. A squealing noise brought her back to the present.

She looked through the door that was left ajar and saw that her friends were playing with their grandchildren. They made merry as though their presence was permanent. They would all be gone soon and the inhabitants of the home would be loners again. The door opened and her grandchildren entered. "Granny," they shrieked and ran to her. She hugged both of them tightly. A surge of warmth rushed through her veins and her eyes welled with tears. She peered at the door from beyond their shoulders. "Where is your dad?" she asked. "Dad dropped us at the home and left for work. He will be back in the evening," said Tom. Lizzie was engrossed in her phone. Headphones were plugged in her ears and she swayed to the music. The technology made Monika feel irrelevant. She felt antiqued. Outdated. Old. Backwards. She felt low about herself. "What are these?" asked Tom pointing at the envelopes on the table.

"Those are the letters I have written to your dad and aunt. I'm yet to post them," she replied. Tom looked at her with surprise writ all over his face. Lizzie removed the headphone and asked, "Why do you still write letters in the era of cell phones and emails. You can just ping us whenever you want. It makes the job easier." Monika smiled. She was relieved that Lizzie got rid of those clutches that held her ears and robbed her of the present moment. She looked at the letters endearingly and said, "Letters give a personal touch and a tinge of warmth that the electronic messages lack. Writing a letter takes time and effort but when we put a pen to paper emotions take shape as words and flow freely from the nib. That doesn't happen when you type away on your phone or computer. That feeling of holding a dear one's letter in your hands is priceless. You can feel a whiff of their fragrance. When we read a letter it feels like the one who wrote it is conversing with us. We can hear their words, feel their emotions, caress their tears and share their smile. Letter writing is magic."

Lizzie looked at her and rolled her eyes. "Isn't it time consuming? You can type and send a message in the blink of an eye. Letter writing is boring," she remarked. 

"Writing a letter takes time. So does forging a relationship. In the era of two minute noodles and instant fixes one doesn't enjoy the process of doing things. Everything has become use and throw. Read and delete," said Monika and walked to the cabinet and opened it. She reached for a mahogany box. Placing it on the table, she opened it. The letters were torn at the edges. They had seen the good, bad and worst days. Ink was smudged at a place or two yet they were precious as were the memories. The letters carried the words written by Monika's mother. It gave an account of their lives. Picking up a letter from among the lot, Monika began to read it. "You have always made us proud," she almost choked. "My mother had written these letters many decades back. Whenever I read them I feel that she is by my side, protecting me and guiding me. Letter writing might have become irrelevant with time. But it is cathartic and soul invigorating," said Monika. 

Lizzie nodded. She diverted her gaze. Maybe she had nothing to say in her defense or she wanted to respect her granny's opinion. She chose to embrace silence. "I have written more than two hundred letters," Monika claimed with pride while Lizzie looked at her phone and nodded absent mindedly. The sound of pen rolling on the paper diverted Monika's attention. She turned and saw that Tom was scribbling away. "What are you doing?" asked Monika. "Oh, I'm trying to write my first letter," he said. Tears threatened to bite the corner of Monika's eyes. "Will you help me" he asked. Joy flowed out as tears and she agreed. 

Dear Ruby, I love your smile he began to write. "Who's Ruby?" she asked. "My would be girlfriend," grinned Tom and continued to write. Monika helped him with the words. Lizzie watched them indulge in their favorite activity. Monika wasn't sure if Tom wanted to write a letter for his happiness or to make her happy? But she enjoyed the process. For the first time in years, she felt relevant. She felt important and useful. Tom was an empathetic kid. She stroked his hair gently and blessed him. She knew that a few hours later, she would be an empty nester again. She would be alone and unattended. She would have wait for months to see her children and grand children. But putting the painaway for another day, she revelled in the present moment. After all, the present was present from God.