I was walking down hill as the monsoon rain came to a brief halt. It had been raining cats and dogs throughout for the past 24 hours and as some people find the idea of rain falling romantic , I pretty much loath it.
But rains are not my topic for this blog post. As I was walking I started thinking about the long written letters that my uncle used to write to my grandfather when the latter used to be away for work. I, for one, am a sucker for hand written letters on parchment papers that are old and coffee brown and brittle, all ready to break because they have overgrown their age to tear apart. It’s that ink that stains them which is worth a million smiles and million memories that are re lived as you read the calligraphy done by it.
How will it feel when the online Facebook posts and these blog posts is all we will get to read from? I wonder if the jokes relating a person with a bad hand writing still be related to a doctor or the myth of hand writing depicting the characteristic of a person still be valid.
Remember that rush of adralin when for the first time we were upgraded from a pencil to a pen ! Wow we felt all grown up. Using that fountain pen taught us the art of writing along side teaching us a lot of patience that was required to fill up the ink without staining our hands or clothes. It will be a shame that the gen next might have to do with tabloids, iPads and laptops. They might never be able to feel the texture of a hardcover book and the smell that the papers hold within. Trying to copy the handwriting of some famous personality will no longer be a task nor will be there that smile of satisfaction crossing their face seeing the words their quill is capable of creating.
Trees will still be cut, forests will be long gone, trodden paths will be a myth and along with them the beautiful art of muse and writing displaced.
~ SNOWY RAHI