One of the childhood memories that flashes before like the crystal clear water of Gangotri, is that of my father yelling, snorting, cribbing about me not having good handwriting. He from his boyhood days was a proud owner of a handsome handwriting and I had a terrible one. Well "terrible" by his standards, "okay-ish" by my teachers' and "readable" by mine.
Every time dad went near my notebooks, it meant a lecture was on it's way. I don't remember his words, so much so for as clear as Gangotri, but he definitely meant; handwriting is the mirror of human's soul. I cared the least. What would an eight year old care for a soul's mirror as long as it's readable?
Universe had it's other plans and my school announced handwriting competition along with spelling contest. I took up the challenge. I was competing against myself. And don't we give our best with the best opponents?
I practiced, imitated dad's handwriting, copied the way the boy who sat next to me scribbled.
Result, I won the spelling competition ...lost handwriting one to a girl from my class whose features were similar to Juhi Chawla, something that gave her the right to behave like the actress, and gave every girl the licence to hate her.
Anyhow, I was beaten by myself...I shrugged, what would a nine year old care about a mirror of a soul?
At home, dad's eyes were moist. Alright, I'm exaggerating, they weren't moist, but certainly were happy. Due to all that practice, I had acquired a good handwriting which now flowed everywhere out of habit. Yes my handwriting had improved and how. It was almost like my dad's.
From then, it was no looking back. I never again participated in handwriting competition as they were no longer held...but appreciation for my handwriting galore. Boy I was one happy soul. Surely it's mirror of our souls, eh!
Years later, with computer and now with smart phones at my side, the mirror of my soul types. My fingers refuse to conjure the beauty once it was famous for. It's been a week now, and I have been struggling to get those handsome curves in my words that ruled the handwriting world.
This morning I felt a tinge of the royal beauty...I'm certain I saw the glimpse of the old bugger. Ergo, with gallons of hope to revive it and keep it alive and healthy for good, I'm signing off for now.
