Our college cultural fest is going on, "Antaragni". Yesterday was opening night. Pro-nite was a play titled “Love letters” by A. R. Gurney, performed by Rajit Kapur n Shernaz Patel.
Loved the play. The performance was just awesome! It sketches the life of 2 people over a span of some 50 years (or something), through letters that they write to each other. There’s hardly much beyond 2 people reading letters at 2 ends of the stage, but the actors put so much life into the characters, tat for the hour n half that the play lasted I was completely lost in it.
Parts of it took me back to my own tryst with letters. Ahh!! The days when penning it all out was much easier than talking. When I would jump at the sight of the postman. I had a bunch of pen friends then. I just loved it. Writing long letters, n then posting them, n then waiting for a letter in return. Constructing a whole you for someone else was a task. I dunno how far I managed. Slowly the letters dwindled. Now there are almost none. Many of them I have lost track of, a few are still in touch through social networks. But it’s not like in those letters… virtual loosely translates as not real to me. I d still love to hold a photograph in my hand over a pic on the pc. I d still love to read a letter over an e-mail.
As much as I love to wait for letters, I guess I d get impatient waiting for them. I d rather e-mail n get a prompt reply now.
Letters are frozen thoughts. They have a kind of permanence in them. Often the way the words are formed on paper reveals much more than the words themselves. Letters have a more personal touch (and in that sense feel more real)
And then there was the time of unsent letters. Letters written, but never delivered. Letters that stayed with me, till they turned to extraneous permutations of alphabets.
Letters live....
And when you are mad at someone tearing to bits is more mollifying than deleting net logs
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