Letters from the Desert (Eulogy to Slowness)

A bustling city in India. Horns honking, people shouting, a veritable cacophony on the streets. In a shabby apartment, a man is writing a letter. We follow this letter as it travels by train to a tiny station in a desert village. The local mailman picks up the mailbag and bikes over a deserted road. He then walks through the sand dunes that seem to go on forever. He stops at the Post Office, where all the incoming mail gets weighed, stamped and documented, and then he goes to the huts of the desert inhabitants. This same ritual takes place time and again. The mailman is not only responsible for keeping the desert population in touch with family and loved ones in the big city, but also for reading the letters aloud in the presence of the entire family: wedding announcements, obituaries, signs of life from sons or daughters. Afterwards they drink tea together, at least if the mailman has time. Sometimes he must go, ever further into the desert dunes. Ultimately, there's a lot of mail to deliver. Then suddenly, a hideous telephone pole appears in the landscape. Before long, the cell phone will make its debut in the village. The subdued \i Letters from the Desert\i0 is an ode to slowness, with sizable roles for both the mailman and the impressive desert.