In a previous blog post titled 'The Practice of Microhistory: Challenges in capturing the veins, emotions and rhythms', I detailed that in my work—my upcoming book The Sky Poured Down Candy—I chose to look at Mughal decline from the point of view of a petty Mughal official named Abdul Jalil Bilgrami, concentrating on his lived experience of serving the empire. My primary sources included the letters he wrote to his son, his poems that have survived in the works of later Bilgrami scholars, especially his grandson’s biographical works, and his various other writings. However, one aspect I was unable to explore in depth in the book was the materiality of letter-writing itself.

Nigel Hall investigates how letter-writing paraphernalia, particularly in Victorian Britain, was portrayed and understood. He examines the meanings ascribed to these objects and their role within the social structures of the time. His study is set against the backdrop of shifting class dynamics, the rise of mass consumerism and conspicuous consumption, expanding educational opportunities, and the emergence of a more mobile society. Through this analysis, Hall highlights that letter-writing in Victorian Britain functioned as a social practice. He suggests that the everyday nature of the tools used for writing, along with the user's focus, both in the past and in historical inquiry, on the content rather than the instruments themselves, results in these objects being overlooked to the point of near invisibility (Hall 2000, 83, 107). In western scholarship, moreover, once the study of writing and writing-related tools gained traction, the focus largely remained on categorizing and analyzing their physical functions. However, this approach often overlooked broader perspectives, such as their usage, social origins, and cultural implications. Hall points to an exception in this trend, H. Petroski's work on the engineering history of the pencil, which he describes as a groundbreaking study that vividly unravels the intricate technological evolution of an otherwise unassuming object (Petroski 1989).

While the materiality of writing has not received extensive scholarly attention, it nonetheless asserts itself in various ways, sometimes even disrupting a writer's creative process. Hall illustrates this with the example of Rudyard Kipling, who, in his autobiography, recalls, 'In Lahore for my Plain Tales I used a slim, octagonal-sided agate pen holder with a Waverly nib. It was a gift, and when in an evil hour it snapped I was much disturbed' (Kipling 1977). Such moments, Hall argues, reveal how materiality, though often unnoticed, becomes most apparent when its technical function fails. In other words:

[M]ateriality is at its most visible when the technology doesn't work or does not work well: the quill that blunts or breaks, the paper that tears or is pierced, the ink that has dried up, the fountain pen that splatters, the ball point pen that leaves blobs of waxy ink, the ruler whose edges have become chipped, the pencil lead that keeps breaking, the sharpener that will not sharpen clearly, the propelling pencil that fails to propel, or the envelope that simply will not stick (Hall 2000, 85).

Another way in which materiality becomes apparent is when an object is chosen or acquired for a specific purpose. This moment involves an individual making 'deliberate choices', which are often influenced by their lifestyle, self-image, and personal comfort. A third way materiality manifests is when an object is designed with aspirations toward becoming an art or craft form. Historically, many items were crafted from exceptional materials, ensuring they were of the highest possible quality. Hall notes that while no one truly requires more than a functional, inexpensive fountain pen to write a letter, there is evidence suggesting that even the priciest pens do not always serve their intended purpose of writing. However, objects like finely crafted quills, inkwells, pen cases, and quill cutters were made by goldsmiths, silversmiths, and other artisans. While these objects were likely rarely used by their owners, they symbolized social status more than practical necessity (86–87).

It is also interesting to think about something as simple as choosing the right paper for letter-writing, a choice we often take for granted today. However, as Hall points out, the widespread use of paper for personal correspondence is the result of centuries of experimentation with different materials. Throughout history, people across the world have used clay, bark, papyrus, and parchment. The practical benefits of these materials in specific cultural contexts eventually led to the rise of paper. Hall also finds the development of paper technology intriguing, imagining the lengthy efforts to create a material that was light, durable, affordable, and could handle ink or pencil equally well, all while maintaining a pure white appearance and a surface that was not too absorbent (98).

Historians have often argued that the Mughal empire was deeply influenced by what has been called the 'rule of paper' (Sarkar 1920, 15; Alam and Subrahmanyam 1999, 31). Paper played a crucial role in mediating authority and managing resources across the empire's vast territories. This is evident from the fact that it was on paper that crucial documents such as imperial orders, news-reports, and land grants—the financial instruments that connected the imperial center to its distant peripheries—were circulated on a daily basis. In hindsight, for my study, it would have been valuable to further analyze the production and use of paper (and maybe, ink) within the Mughal domains. Following Petroski's approach, which traces the 'complex technological history' of seemingly simple artifacts, I now see how focusing on these materials could have enriched the narrative. 

At first glance, one might assume that it was the widespread availability of paper (and ink) that allowed Abdul Jalil, posted in the distant province of Bhakkar, to maintain regular correspondence with his son, stationed a thousand kilometers away in their hometown of Bilgram. However, a deeper exploration into the role of these materials would have highlighted their significant impact on the lives of low-ranking mansabdars (bureaucrats) like Abdul Jalil, whose daily routines were shaped by the need to secure documents confirming their mansab (rank) and jagir (revenue assignment). In doing so, I could have strengthened the argument that letter-writing was not just an individual act for Abdul Jalil, but a deeply social practice ingrained in the larger administrative and cultural framework of the empire. 

To reflect on this now, exploring the materiality of letter-writing is crucial for historical analysis for several reasons. First, it shifts our attention away from the content of letters alone and asks us to consider the tools and technologies that made that content possible. Understanding how letters were physically produced, whether it was the quality of the paper, the ink, or the pens, allows us to grasp the lived experience of the writer in ways that textual analysis alone cannot. By examining the materiality of writing, historians can better appreciate the constraints and possibilities faced by historical figures, which in turn can lead to more nuanced interpretations of their actions and decisions.

Moreover, the objects involved in letter-writing and even the act of choosing a specific writing instrument, were not neutral tools. They were deeply embedded in the social, political, and economic structures of their time. For instance, in the case of Abdul Jalil, the materials he used to communicate with his son were tied to his status within the Mughal bureaucracy and his access to resources. Exploring these material aspects reveals the underlying power dynamics, social hierarchies, and networks of exchange that shaped his world. By focusing on materiality, historians can uncover the often-overlooked ways in which material culture interacted with social practices, helping to paint a fuller picture of the past.

Lastly, considering the materiality of letter-writing also challenges the conventional notion that historical documents are merely static containers of information. Instead, it brings attention to the ways in which these documents were part of a larger system of communication and exchange. It underscores the importance of everyday objects, those that might otherwise be dismissed as trivial or inconsequential, as active agents in historical processes. In this sense, materiality invites a more holistic approach to history, one that accounts for both the human and the non-human factors that shaped historical events and experiences.

References

Alam, M., and Subrahmanyam, S. 1999. "Introduction." In The Mughal State, 1526–1750. Oxford University Press.

Hall, N. 2000. "The Materiality of Letter Writing: A Nineteenth Century Perspective." In Letter Writing as a Social Practice, edited by David Barton and Nigel Hall. John Benjamins Publishing Company.

Kipling, R. 1977. Something of Myself. Penguin Books.

Petroski, H. 1989. The Pencil: A History of Design and Circumstance. Faber.

Sarkar, J. 1920. The Mughal Administration: Six Lectures. Government Printing.