Letters to nobody

This National Postal Week, we get a flashback of the lives of the so-called 'messengers' of this city and how their industry of letter writing is now, almost, defunct.

 

The letter writers outside GPO, Fort

Penning down 'Dear…" and other endearing thoughts, typically on a piece of paper, is now a 'once-upon-a-time' activity, thanks to the technological evolution the world has observed. Despite its benefits, it has made a difference in the lives of a moiety of the public. We're talking of the letter writers of Mumbai, who have added to the old-world charm of SoBo.

Sharing a common space under a shed opposite the GPO, right next to the Kabootar Khana, one will see men seated at a table, which holds atop some pens, stamps, documents and a candle that helps them seal messages and parcels. Passers-by who have never had the time to inquire of their work status look at them suspiciously, but that does not deter them from smiling. Why wouldn't they? These are men who understand the value of words and thereby emotions. Because aren't the two just about the same thing?

While earlier they would only write letters and file documents for the illiterate, in the near past these letter writers have tried their hands at stitching parcels. But beginning 1st of September, the postal service of India has started provisions for parcels as well, thus hampering their only income.

With such a bleak future, why not try their hands at something else? Jayprakash Murkar smirks at the mere question. "I am 58 years now; worked here for 36 years. The best part about this is that I'm both my own boss and employee." Trying to be louder than the noise of the honking vehicles, Murkar, once a postmaster at the Mazagaon post office, tells us how earlier, Sundays would be a double-income days for them. He recalls, "There was a time when people would from UP and Bihar would queue here with a want to convey their thoughts and feelings to their loved ones back home. But now, everyone is a phone call away."

Letter writing is a work of trust; people spill their emotions only for these professional letter writers to concise it on paper. 34-year-old Dombivali resident, Dilip Pande (who also takes pride in being interviewed by other renowned publications) says, "I have fond memories of this business. It was fun to both interact with people and write for them. Once there was a Muslim lady who came to me so I could fill in divorce papers for her. I knew she was distressed and asked her to relax, and after she spoke to me I assured her to come back to me the next day lying that I didn't have the documents with me. Thankfully, she never came back (assuming everything went fine). Even newly-wed taxi drivers who'd come to Mumbai to earn a living would ask me to pen down their feelings on paper to send to their brides. Other clients would range from textile mill workers to women working in red-light areas. It used to be saddening to write their letters, but a task is a task."

Pande, who now is a part-time LIC advisor as well, talks about how a country that had around 2000–3000 letter writers now hosts a mere 200–300 of them. This stretch itself sees only 7–8 letter writers as opposed to a 17–18 seen earlier. He says, "I feel proud for the Indian government; we're a nation that has progressed. But if there could be a subsidiary for people like us who belong to niche professions, it'd only keep us happy. After all, we're a helping hand for people too." Ask him what next and he smiles back saying, "I trust God and I'm extremely hopeful. When the hand is empty, God knows how to fill it up." Ponder over the duologue and you can't fail to overlook that the qualities they possess (that of gratitude and hope) are nearing extinction much like their profession.

Source :  http://www.dnaindia.com/mumbai/report-letters-to-nobody-2024981