Random Ramblings of a Reluctant Blogger

It was sitting on the the table when I walked into the office. An Inland letter from an very old friend. Of course in these days of instant communications, that we all have been accustomed to, an inland letter came as a pleasant surprise.
If you have that Sherlok Homles style of reasoning, I am sure you would immediately put the writers age above 60s. You wouldn’t be wrong either..
But more than the message, of course of reconnecting with old friends, the letter threw me back to the days when I was a kid.
Letter writing was than a process in itself at least to my grandfather.
I had marveled at his ability to correctly predict the arrival of a letter. It was later when I came to know he had an idea of the postman’s daily round that some of the magic of his predictions came down.
I would run upto the post box which everyone had, and pick up an assortment of letters _ inland letters, post cards and envelops.
He had told me how each was different from the other. Postcards just to provide information which even if read by others didn’t matter much_ OH! Yes there were the snoopers even then!_ Inland letter for a more private conversation and envelops for very very secretive ones. 
It was only later when I grew older, and I presume wiser, that I could deduce my grandfathers social hierarchy. Postcard for the plebeians and mere acquaintances or as Facebook would have it ‘all,’ inland letters for close yet distant relatives (friends of friends) and the envelops only for those very close relatives and friends.
The moment the letters arrived he would go to his table read the postcards first, then open up the inland letters and then those special ones which came in the envelop. At time he would skip the envelops, reserving it for later, to read it in private.
The news through these would then be shared with the family members. So and so is doing so and so; some one is getting married; someone is sick ; someone has topped the school etc.
He than would stack up the letters in particular order, which I deduced was in the order of his reply.
For he was very prompt in replying.
He always had with him an assortment of cards, letters and envelops. A card elicited a card and a letter was replied in letter.
He would open his pen and very meticulously pour the ink, always the Royal Blue. The filling of ink, the cleaning of the pen was a process which kept me mesmerized. It was only in the later days that I realised how tough it was to not spill the ink and make a mess of it as my grandfather did. Though he had a black ink too I never once saw him use it. He always used a fountain pen and like many of his generation felt the ball point pen was never any good.
Each letter was thoroughly read once again and each query answered appropriately. Once he had finished writing he would put them in a bag. And later while on an evening stroll promptly put it into the letter box.
There were hardly any days when he didnt get a letter. A prompt reply was promptly replied back and so forth. Just like a whatssp conversation through letters.
And on days when the post did not arrive like on holidays, he still would be writing, I presume starting a conversation.
As long as he could my grandfather kept up his communication channel open with relative and friends. Never had I seen him lax in replying. He had word of comfort to those who needed it, disseminated news, gossip, politics and advice in equal measure.
Not all his letters came back with replies but that didn’t deter him from his daily routine.
It was almost a meditative process for him.
In these days of instant communications, when I reply to sms and whataspp, I wonder how my grandfather, a man of letter in his own small way , would have fared now.