The ubiquitous red letter box with its black dome has been  quietly disappearing  from our streets. For decades, it was not just a utility but a fixture of our childhoods—an everyday object that carried our words across miles. Now, with India Post officially phasing them out, a chapter of our collective memory is being sealed forever.

For my generation, the letter box was more than metal and paint. It was a  romance in its own way. Running with a freshly written letter, slipping it into the slit, and pushing your hand inside just to be sure it had gone in— was a small  joy. And then there was the postman: brown uniform, peaked cap, satchel slung across his shoulder, unlocking the box to retrieve its treasure of folded emotions. That sight is etched into our memory, as vivid as the scent of an inland letter or the flutter of a postcard.

Even the rules around posting had their quirks. I remember how greeting cards cost extra postage if you sealed them. We would write long letters inside the card but deliberately leave the flap unsealed, a small act of frugality that made the ritual even more exciting..

Today, with instant messages and real time respinses, the red box may look outdated. Still, its disappearance leaves a sense of  emptiness. It was never just a metal box. It taught us to wait, to be patient, to believe that our words—scribbled on thin blue paper—would somehow travel and reachour dear ones..

I wish we could keep some of these red boxes, at least in parks, schools, and heritage spots. Not as relics gathering dust, but as reminders of where we began—before email, before WhatsApp, before the invasion by the digital media.. I wish the next generation could stumble upon one and wonder: how did this red box help people share their love, their little joys and sorrows!  Memories too are part of our heritage. And maybe, in holding on to the red box, we hold on to a small piece of who we were.

-A. L. Sharada