Faithful to a vanishing art

By K.V.S. Madhav

HYDERABAD, SEPT. 23. Old fragile fingers quiver as they race on the piece of paper. In black and white, that is. A myriad feelings wrapped in words and written lovingly in long letters. The eyes dart across the page, adding a word here and an accentuation there.

The burkha-clad woman sitting in front mutters a few more lines and the `learned' old man, all of 75 years, listens patiently. He knows he is her voice, her only channel of communication with her husband living in the far-away Gulf. He jots down religiously and embellishes them, word by word, and brings out the feelings glowingly as she smiles shyly.

Into the explosive world of Internet where messages move on high bandwidth at an incredible speed and flash on terminals at either end of the globe in a matter of seconds, here is a practitioner of a long-forgotten and vanishing art -- letter-writing.

Right amid us, in the very backyard of the country's hyped IT destination, Cyberabad, sits this septuagenarian letter-writer, Mohd. Zainul Abeedin, in one corner of the Jubilee Post Office, Dewan Dewdi, pen and note pad in hand.

And, he is not alone. There are several letter-writers who hang around some post-offices, mostly in the old city, who write letters, fill money order forms, deposit and withdrawal forms, savings certificates and terse telegraphic messages for a small price -- a rupee or two.

It is mostly women and the old who avail themselves of their services and get the "chitti" written for their kith and kin in the Gulf or some remote hamlets of the drought-hit neighbouring districts.

Zainul Abeedin is the quintessential Hyderabadi. He is a retired employee of the Postal Department and proficient in Arabic and Persian. "I have been into letter writing for the past 13 years after retiring as an upper division clerk in the Postmaster- General's office," he discloses.

And he is in great demand as people keep streaming in. "I just do not know how the day passes by. This job keeps me busy and brings some money. At home, the clock doesn't move at all," smiles Abeedin. Having seen life's highs and lows, he does not bargain, humbly accepting whatever is given.

Patience, that all important trait so scarce in today's world, is a must for the job. "People discuss all kind of things with me openly -- family matters, romance, happy moments and tragedies in their lives."

That is when the silent listener and an ardent empathiser in him tumbles out. "It makes me sad seeing people's plight, particularly women, who are married off to those in the Gulf. Their husbands do not come back. Very few are honest and the poor women keep sending letters regularly without response," he sighs.

Experiences like these have only ripened them. "I am so used to the job that I know what people would say next during their dictation," he laughs.

"After the letter is posted, some come back asking me not to reveal the contents of the letter. Now, tell me at this age, how can I remember so many letters that I write," he smiles behind the white flowing beard.

Similar smiles are absent elsewhere. For old Iqbal, another letter-writer at the General Post Office, Abids, business has dwindled and "he doesn't come to the place as often as he used to". A graduate of Banaras Hindu University, he knows English, Urdu, Persian and Arabic. Though he has never had a steady line, except for some stints as a translator, Iqbal says "he has to wait for long hours to put pen to paper these days."

A grim reminder, perhaps, that the writing is on the wall. The days of the written word, painstakingly etched out pouring in one's heart and soul, are indeed fast vanishing as the stacatto sounds of keyboards become more apparent.

Send this article to Friends by E-Mail

Section  : Southern States
Previous : Two bears rescued from bondage
Next     : Call to care for the elderly