Years back I used to write letters to my dad. We were living in different cities and although the mobile revolution kept as connected after every gulab-jamun or chole or paneer we'd eaten and reported, we still kept in touch via the snail way. The thought occurred to me now, that this process has stopped in totality. And it has been years since this has stopped. So all in all, I am clueless in the time chaos of when the letter writing was active, even though sporadically, and when it demised without my notice. The catharsis here also leaves me to wonder at how the process has ended from both receiving ends. Does this mean that only one of my dad or me was the initiator and the other receiver. And either one died, and led to the other's death?

Sad how memory runs yonder when I am not wearing my contact lens.

I can't remember the last time I had been to the post office. Well, seems I’d spend more money sending anything which accounts as non-e-mail via couriers as the happy chaps come and collect it from me and save me the trouble of going over. I am no longer sure of where apart from the post office would one be able to get postage stamps. And that even if I got them, whether a letter would carry a 1-rupee stamp or has inflation brushed past this as well?

In no case am I getting nostalgic over the lost art of letter writing. And this is weirder. I feel nothing over it and no emotions cross me while I write this. The lost art seems to have moved beyond being lost. It’s extinct. So much so that if I ever have kids, I’d perhaps have to turn to the 'Letters' section of the encyclopedia and show them of how the previous generations found the art and then lost it in time. I will perhaps get that 'eyes in wonder' look from my kid when I admit I did also write letters once upon a time....

Well, I do wonder of how they used pigeons.