11:25 am
MR Block,
Pallikoodam School, Kottayam.
Surrounded by 70 curious early teenagers with a bazillion questions.
A boy came up to me and asked what the spelling of Day scholar is?
D-A-Y S-C-H-O-L-A-R
He scribbled it down on the plain side of the postcard and handed it over to me.
“Finished Chechi.”
One glance and I understood he had only written one line.
“Write more, there is so much space”
“That’s all I have to say Chechi, wait, I have to write my name”
He took another two minutes and handed the postcard to me.
“Its for Appa.”
With his permission I read the postcard.
The content was minimal.
“Dear Appa,
Can I be a day scholar, please forgive my sins. I will be a good boy today onwards
Love,
Paul”
Imagine receiving a letter from your son who is miles away, and who you terribly miss, and the only thing he has written is asking whether he could be home.
A tear, maybe a broken smile, a heart exploding with love, and the purpose of the postcard will be partially fulfilled.
Years later, many fights, and hugs later, this postcard will still make sense, to both the son and father.
Handwritten letters have a magic, an unparalleled power.
