I remember the days when I loved writing letters to my aunt Latha. Malayalam was her favorite subject and she was the only one in our family who truly loved poetry. She even wrote beautiful poems of her own.
I used to pour my heart into those long letters and I enjoyed every moment of writing them. The wait for her replies felt endless. The joy when my dad returned from work with a letter in hand and it felt like heaven. Since our apartment didn’t have a mailbox, all her letters came to his office. Sometimes, she would slip in colorful feathers between the pages. They were tiny treasures to me.
That’s where my love for writing began.
Even with all the technology today, emails, texts, instant everything nothing has ever come close to the magic of those handwritten letters. The feeling they brought is something I still can’t quite put into words.
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