Like a big, fat book, one's life is divided into various chapters. Things might look slow, clumsy, and hard on day to day basis. But if you sit down one day, clear the specks of dust from your mental lens, and look back - You can divide your days into various periods - more like an episodal web series.
Some of you might divide them into school days or college days, Initial employment days, or the typical ' Working in this organization sucks' days. Maybe Infatuation days and major crush days. Dating days and Break-up days. Some of you might be too busy to sit like me doing nothing but thinking about the past. So, you might have divided it into typical good days and bad days.
Nothing wrong with that.
And then there are some rare species (ahem! Guess who belongs to that species?) who have all the time to go as narrow as possible - Categorising each and everything which they could think of. And then categorizing them into other categories. For them each and every detail is important. They like their chapters short and readable - No matter how thick the book will be
No point for guessing, I'm one of them (If by chance, you missed my brackets hint).
To explain a bit about the brain of this rare species - For you, it might be 'just' school days. For them, it is:-
- The way I cried when my parents forcefully sent me to school.
- The last guy entered before the main gut closed.
- The one who slept in history class.
- No more stupid pencils - get me the pen.
and the list of chapters can go on and on.
In everyone's life, there comes a phase when one can literally throw away those 'wildly' chewed-from-the-back pencils and replace them with sleek and elegant pens. That's actually a remarkable change as now you can fill your notebooks all black and blue (ahem! literally again).
Remember - questions in black ink and answers in blue.
That's actually a superpower. All of a sudden, you feel that whatever you are going to write will not be much transitory now - It will be carrying some amount of permanency with it.
This phase also carries an opportunity with it - an opportunity to forge a personality where you can 'Choose' to write neatly. An opportunity to commit fewer mistakes. An opportunity to behave like a person who has a 'way' with pens.
You know what, these all are quite foolish opportunities. It's like a fish not only climbing a tree but also singing an opera from above.
I had clumsy handwriting. No one taught me to write clumsy - I was born with that talent. My brain always worked hard to guide my hand to fit as many words as possible in as less space. And to cope with dictating speed of the teacher, I never felt any issue with skipping a few words. I believed in writing the first letter of the word and making an impression afterward. And after class, I used to sit with a group of friends to guess what actually was my intent to write there. Can you imagine a group of historians, looking interestingly at the Harrapan script, trying to write a new book on the Aryan Invasion Theory?
I was born in an era (I consciously used the word era) where people used to think that one's handwriting is so damn directly proportional to one's intelligence. And My dear Father was most concerned with the neatness of my handwriting 'oblique' level of my intelligence. So he enrolled me in this handwriting improvement class. Point to be noted - I was in the tenth standard when he took this revolutionary step. And the average age of the students who were taking that course was eleven (ahem! If you count me in).
They started with the clarity and formation of the alphabet - trying to modify my outstanding handwriting into a predefined 'greeting card' style. It was fun actually making the letter "A" like two wooden ladders balanced against each other and fancy ribbon tied between them. And the letter "B" was like that standard sketch I used to make, in which two hills with a waterfall kind of thing were there in between. You just have to see that sketch in portrait mode.
I finally gained that superpower of showcasing my classy handwriting - and that too with a lightning speed of forty minutes...
a quarter of a page of an exercise notebook.
Don't forget that they assured me that with regular practice, I'll be able to cope. But after trying and trying, I understood that every power requires a certain amount of compromises. I have to choose between beauty and the beast (oops! speed). I chose the beast. And in a couple of weeks, I was back with my scribble and scratches.
But my Father was not ready to spare me so easily.
He made me repeat that whole program in the twelfth standard.
Imagine a five-foot-nine guy, weighing hundred and forty pounds (you can't ignore my sixteen-inch arms, can you ?), surrounded by a few irritating ten-year-old kids, fighting to grab the first desk. And yes, I learned cursive writing there.
And the teacher had to deal with the class in a different way.
- I'll make you sit with a girl
- Finger on your lips
- write ' I will not talk in the class' in your diary a hundred times.
I remember once I was writing an essay in my recalled superpower when I forgot to put a couple of dots above the Seducing 'I' and the gentle 'J'.
'Himanshu, next time if you forget this I'll give you a tight slap. I didn't know how to react, so obviously... I couldn't control my laughter.
To my amazement, she started laughing too.
That was my last day in that kiddy class.
Now here I'm where people believe in typing and chatting. But I still do most of my writing on paper with a fountain pen or a pilot pen majorly. People do rely on e-mails, but I still send letters to a couple of my acquaintances.
And my handwriting is much tidy and clear.
I learned a very important lesson as I grew up. Handwriting is a medium to express your soul. It is much clear when your thoughts flow like a fresh stream of water.
I recently read an article in a magazine that you can't actually improve your handwriting. No matter how hard you try, you can't hide what's imbibed in you for a long time. Also, your handwriting is very much dependent on your mental state and speed. Most of the time, your hand fails to cope with your mental speed. Result - everyone says - 'Can you read yourself what you have written?'.
I tried to explain this to my Father. He just smiled.
I don't know whether my mental speed is reduced or my hand is now capable to tame the monster in my head, but my handwriting is improved. At least I believe this.
Do you want to see it? send me your address and wait for a letter exclusively for you. Let me pray to the Gods of wit and humor to bestow his blessings on my head so that I can write something interesting for you with my bare hands.
Love, Laughter, and Peace
Himanshu R Nagpal
PS:- Handwriting is not related to one's level of intellect. Okay, Bye!
PSS:- I'm looking for a suitable name for that 'species'. Suggestions are more than welcome. (I have a name in my mind let's call them/me Homo - Clumsiarian, what do you suggest?).
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