AH letters! In our family cookbook that I mostly wrote from watching Amma cook during my college days, the recipe for Vegetable Pulao includes the line: “As soon as the oil gets hot, put crushed cardamom, cloves and cinnamon, then immediately add chopped onions—no Popemen peeking, by Jove!” This phrase is insider slang that only the Shedde family will know. It comes from Amma’s habit of going to the kitchen window every now and then to see if the postman had come; “Popemen” (“po-pay-men”) she would call him, in kiddie slang. The pulao recipe needed quick action; there was no time to hang around waiting for letters to arrive. Imagine, letters were once such a big part of our lives, they even seeped into our family recipe book.

I have generally been a big letter buff. Somewhere in the loft is a large box of letters I’ve received over the years—from friends, pen-friends, Papa, and a smaller package of love letters. Far from being wrapped in pink satin ribbon, the love letters are saved in an especially grubby envelope, with insurance policy renewal notice vibes, to put off prying eyes.