Daak Chithi: Unsent Letters

By Rameen Bajwa

The digitization of our world promises us closeness; instant replies, lightning-fast updates, endless access. Yet this facade of connectivity further deepens this void forcing us to feel further apart than ever. There was a time when communication asked more of us. Where even the simple act of putting the right words to paper demanded intention. Ask yourself, when was the last time you wrote something with intention? Human expression is so abundantly available around us. It is found in the pauses that make up a conversation and in the bounds of poetry. Somewhere at this interaction, Daak Chithi began to take shape because at the heart of this intention is where we find ourselves most human.

Our founder, Murshidul Alam Bhuiyan, traces this idea back to his mother’s almirah stacked with letters. There were dozens of them, some neatly folded in between enveloped fabric, others worn at the edges. The letters were addressed to siblings, friends, people who had once been a part of her life. Every now and then, she would take them out. Never all of them at once. She’d read them out loud, each time sharing a new story. And then, just as gently, she would fold them back and return them to their place. Some of the letters had softened at the folds. A few of them had faint stains. In a few places, the ink looked darker creating a frequency of pauses. From confessions to simpler truths, the letters became the heart of Daak Chithi. It was clear from this moment we wanted to use storytelling as the medium for our framework because it was something that happened to all of us.

In Bangladesh, Daak Chithi started with Murshidul Alam Bhuiyan, Jannatul Maida, Sharafa Tonmona, Faria Alam, Saima Ali Fariha, and Tasfia Rahman Piyal, supported in its early stages by the YCM Seed Fund, which they won through the YCM Challenge 2025. What began with postcard-style designs expanded into letter-writing corners at events; quiet pockets in loud spaces where strangers could sit, write, remember, and feel again. Starting online with theme-based letters, the initiative moved into letter-writing events at universities in Dhaka and later into workshops held in institutions across Bangladesh, including orphanages and madrasas in Cox’s Bazar. Now, through this platform, people are connecting and reconnecting. Friends who've moved abroad confess their fears and wishes, a mother sharing unsaid love and affection for her son and spouses reconnecting, or a grandchild talking to their grandad as if he were still with her; Daak Chithi has become the haven of love and silent bearer of unsaid stories.

From partition stories to shared grief our history with Bangladesh is rooted in erasure. Yet poetry has a way of crossing borders that still binds us. And that is how the undercurrents of Daak Chithi unearthed in Pakistan. My introduction to this craft goes back to my grandfather. He was remembered as a quiet man. Yet no one could match the sheer volume of his sentiments when it came to poetry. I grew up watching that unfold without fully understanding it at the time. When you witness someone step into their poethood you realize how simple this happening is. And with that, you start to see it in everyone around you.

As Country Director, building my team was never just about filling roles. I wanted to expand Daak Chithi through the lens of poetry across Pakistan. Mahnoor and I performed together at my first open mic. Emaan was my first audience and with that my first proof of poetry too. Namra introduced me to the parallels of poetry and politics. Abdullah’s recitals were almost lyrical. In many ways the same force that brought Daak Chithi into being, invited these curators together. Multiple letter-writing fairs and story-focused gatherings have since been organised in the heart of the city, unearthing a newfound sense of community through the archaic act of letter writing.

At the first few gatherings, there was hesitation. People would ask, “What do I even write?” But slowly through initiatives such as Daak Baithak, Daak Umeed, Daak Station, and Daak Dastan, Daak Chithi we have created a spectrum of events to create room for these moments. From close-knit communal sessions to large-scale workshops, youth workshops and type-writer pop-ups, our purpose remains the same: to make space for people to pause, reflect and vent.

The reception of Daak Chithi in Islamabad has been immediate and efficacious. Students have found solace in handwritten notes. Strangers have exchanged gratitude and quiet encouragement. Friends who had drifted apart reconnected. Husbands and wives found new ways to express care. Mothers and sons bridged silences that conversations had long avoided. Each letter became a small but powerful thread, weaving a connection where it had long been missing. Children brought their parents back to their childhood. Friends reminisced about those who had left, shed a tear, and a sprinting life came to a standstill for a moment. In Islamabad, Daak Chithi slowed the ever-running city; it disrupted the plans of tomorrow for the moment of today.

As I write this I am sitting next to archives of Daak Chithi’s impact. One of the first stories that allowed me to visualise the impact of our mission was from our first event - this man, wrote to someone from the same workshop. Although she didn’t know it at first but as they both continued to write, something unspoken between them became visible. In a workshop with midwives, one of them wrote an ode to grief and crossing the line between life and loss while continuing to show up for both. Daak Baithak carried a similar weight. A woman in her late fifties wrote to a friend who passed away years ago, tracing two decades worth of friendship in a letter she never got to send. Someone else wrote to their former partner to release and acknowledge how much had changed. Each time the pattern was the same, when granted the space to unwind, people don’t just write but form community. Witnessing such profound vulnerability from strangers integrated me even more into this drive.

Beyond letter-writing, Daak Chithi’s work extends into social care. The organisation has raised funds to provide period relief kits for women and girls in flood-affected areas, while proceeds from events support their TNVR campaign dedicated to caring for and protecting stray dogs in Islamabad. Different causes, the same instinct, to notice vulnerability and respond with kindness.

Inspired by tegami, the Japanese tradition of slow, intentional letter-writing, Daak Chithi is not just a platform. With its 17 core members and over 100 members, it is resistance; a refusal to let speed replace sincerity. It offers more than paper and ink. It offers permission. To pause. To feel deeply. To speak honestly. Because sometimes, the slowest messages are the ones that live the longest.