On Handwriting

The world "celebrated" National Handwriting Day a couple of days back, and I read about it in the newspaper today. I generally do not celebrate any of these "world" days. They are as meaningless as "no honking" signposts on Indian roads.

But reading about this day reminded me of my relationship with pen and paper.

I have terrible handwriting; often, even I can't read the words I scribble. But how I write narrates a lot more than just what those words read. It represents the state of my mind.

I write notes, to-dos, and thought fragments every day. But I rarely write with intention anymore. There was a time when I wrote pages of words by hand. Writing morning pages in my diary was an everyday routine for years. I still have diaries full of old thoughts in the loft. Every now and then, I pick one, open a random page and read my state of mind at that time. Relive the phase of my life.

Memories abound. Some sweet moments. Some not so. But all crude. No filter.

And I don't even need to read the words to fathom the state of my mind. The handwriting is enough. I didn't recognise this connection until my wife made a passing comment once while I was scribbling away on the page. Without looking at me, she said, "Breathe. A lot is going on in your head. Try to write cleanly, and the cloud within will clear."

To this day, I live by my wife's suggestion. If I see myself writing illegibly, I will pause and try to write more clearly.

The clearer the words on the page, the clearer the thoughts in my mind.