ALSphere Foundation
The foregone glory of epistolary form,
When the nerve-racking technology did not pervade
A piece of paper was not simply a piece of paper
Its rosewood scent would ooze out feelings of the lover for his coy beloved,
The soiled paper would remind us of our childhood days spent in the village,
It had the warmth and aroma of my mother’s Ittar,
And the words imbibed on it were soothing like her lullaby
The scent of paper conveyed different meanings to varied people, indeed!
But today,
The only pleasurable scent is that of the purple rain
Collecting heaps of money,
Pouring down the drain
It is the petrichor of contemporary times
Compelling me to ponder-
Will I ever be able to sniff the original fond, homely fragrance of le papier?
