I wrote letters to make sense of the world

I was a “too much” girl. I have this boon and bane of feeling everything too much. I have the capacity to overwhelm myself with my own emotions. I was born and brought up in a very small town of Assam. If you visit by the Indian railways, you have to get down at the last railways station of North East Railways. Arunachal Pradesh is just an hour from where I live.

I grew up in the 90s. Life was very different then. Internet wasn’t a thing. Mobile phones haven’t made it to the markets. We lived in a joint family. Climate Change wasn’t even a thought. It rained a lot. Weather was always pleasant. During summers, power cuts were the best part. We got to sit on our lawns- fireflies would come. Or go for a walk on the streets-most people would take walks.

Everyone knew everyone. We always felt safe, even in dark corners- there were no street lights. One day when I was 6 years old I tried to flee home because my parents asked me to study. As I tried running, a neighbor saw me. He put me on his cycle and dropped me home. After 5 minutes I forgot about it, had lunch and went to nap with grandparents. My parents laughed and said nothing.

So that was the lost India I was being raised in. Sunday looked like Monday, and Monday looked like Wednesday. People would arrive with no prior information and stay with us. That was the accepted norm, then. Time did not seem to have much relevance. Everyone had time. Days were long. No one rushed. Newspapers arrived late. People made truck calls. Neighbors visited each other every day. We played on the playground and our skins would peel from falls and that was okay. But as you grow, things touch you. Like how beautiful the sky looked in the evenings- it changed into so many colors. Something would hit my tiny heart as I would walk back home from school. I was too young to articulate and none of my friends would talk about what my inner world felt.

I discovered writing at the age of 8. We had a newspaper where kids could write on Sundays. I started writing then. And that was also when I discovered letters. Dad used to receive it from his friends. My mother used to sing Meera Bhajans- that was the most beautiful thing I ever known. In my head I realized that you could talk to God-like Meera did. But I could not sing. But I could write. So my firstletters were addressed to God. I would write mundane things, like what happened in school or the playground and asking God to help me with my math class. Then I would post it in the “Gullak.” Somehow I believed that my “Gullak,” had some magical power and could connect with God. But that was me.

Living in a joint family is fun but can be chaotic too. There would always be so many people in our house. So many faces I didn’t even know. So writing letters were my first step to make sense of the world I lived in. I was too young to articulate then, but now as an adult I realize how those handwritten letters helped me process everything around. And then without realizing it became a habit.

Then as I grew up, and would attend any inter school events or visit any place, I would exchange addresses with kids my age and we would all write to each other.

I always had two worlds- Inner and Outer. My letters carried my inner world. I am not great at talking about myself. I always had kids coming to me to share their issues; I had letters to talk about my world.

Everyone processes life differently. In all my letters, I processed mine. I felt sad for the little bird that would just wait outside the playground. I could only tell that in my letters. Letters grounded me.

I entered college, life was very different. I graduated to emails. I made a pen friend in the USA. He was a student too. Sending letters costed money and reached him late. I would email him. The whole experience of hostel, food, college, crushes, identity crisis, I guess I made sense through him. I would also write him long handwritten letters and post it after a month or so. It costed Rs. 15 then. I would just crib about food at times. The world felt calmer and I felt understood as I wrote those letters.

Life kept happening; I met more people and would exchange emails. I received responses. Life felt lighter. My heart breathed again. I remember going to jobs interviews and feeling overwhelmed, I would sit in the waiting area and write a mail to a friend. I felt calm. Every heartache- big or small. Every feeling- big or small. I have processed in hundreds of letters. I still have all those emails/letters.

Now that I am a writer and a healer, everyone says I am so calm and so processed in life. I haven’t told them that in dark, restless nights, letters kept me going. One of humanity’s greatest needs is to feel seen and heard-thorough letters I felt that.

That’s my tiny secret.

In our small town we have a post office. I remember as a teenager I would cycle down to post my letters and wait for the post woman to carry mine. That was the greatest joy then. I felt belonged.

Now I don’t get to write letters or emails. I send voice notes. Long ones. And every few days, I receive long voice notes back. I feel loved, heard and healed again. From long hand written letters in the 9Os to long voice notes in 2025, life has a brilliant way of repeating itself and humbling you.

I continue to play with words in an attempt to process this thing called life.

- Paromita Bardoloi (Paromita is a writer and a healer based out of New Delhi.)