Penning my thoughts…

Disclaimer: This is not a proper entry. It’s just a rambling, thinking-aloud kind of piece written to disguise the fact that I have actually no proper topic today.

Why this state of affairs? It’s because I generally like to know well in advance what I mean to write about and publish on the blog in two weeks’ time. I like to take a few days to think about the different aspects of the topic, the argument I mean to offer, and the tone I plan to take. Only after these ideas take nebulous shape in my mind do I like to put pen to paper. (So much for spontaneity, but then I am not a very spontaneous person. What little spontaneity or impulsiveness is exhibited in my behaviour is as likely as not due to the encouragement of my Bitter Half.)

That last phrase – putting pen to paper – is not mere affectation. I really like to write out every piece by hand before I start to type it. There’s something about the act of shaping the letters by hand on the paper that is infinitely soothing to eyes and mind fatigued by staring at cell phone and laptop screens all day long. Also, it may perhaps be because of my pre-internet revolution upbringing, but I do find that I think better and more lucidly when writing rather than when typing. In fact, I wrote out my entire PhD dissertation by hand and then typed it. This roundabout way of doing things probably sounds ludicrous to many, but I request their indulgence and ask them to pass it off as one of my many lovable foibles.

As a student I was never taught to write in cursive script. My school didn’t insist on it. I wrote in running hand – joining letters together as I best could – and was happy even if the results turned out to be legible. But a few years ago, I decided to learn the cursive script properly and so went online to see tutorials on the subject. I spent a summer vacation happily doodling away in an attempt to unlearn the habits of a lifetime and relearn new styles of shaping letters. Sometimes I managed it quite easily, at other times the hand just refused to learn a new way of doing old things. I still haven’t mastered it completely; but I feel happy that I tried to learn something new and managed at least to achieve moderate success.

This love of writing on paper allows me to indulge in another favourite activity: buying stationery. Friends buy me fancy notebooks that I lovingly hoard away because I don’t have the heart to use the nice stuff. Just occasionally I do use one of the notebooks by telling myself firmly to neither a buyer nor a spender be if I do not intend to use the nice stuff I own. Then I reward myself by buying some more writing pads and a pretty notebook or two to replace the one I started using.

My Bitter Half also indulges me by buying me lovely pens. Of recent years I have discovered a love of fountain pens. In school, fountain pens were mandatory, and the mess resulting from using cheap fountains pens was unbelievable (everyone used cheap fountain pens in school in those days; it was no reflection on one’s financial status, but it was probably a part of parenting strategy to toughen their kids towards life by teaching them how to deal with the mess). I used to hate them and had vowed to myself that once school was behind me so would be the fountain pens. But my Bitter Half gradually taught me to love the understated beauty of a loving crafted writing instrument (that’s what William Penn likes to call them) and now I own at least as many fountain pens as I do ballpens. My English teacher in school always told us to prefer fountain pens because they went your way unlike ballpens that insisted on taking you along theirs. I now find that she was right (Moral of the story: English teachers are infinitely wise, and you should always listen to them.). A fountain pen does not slide along the paper as smoothly as does a ballpen. So, the act of writing with a fountain pen is a very conscious exercise, where it is your thoughts that push your pen forward on the paper. A fountain pen does not skip thoughtlessly across the page; it walks in dignity and decorum as befitting a writing instrument that has been around since the 17th century in Europe (since the 10th century in Arab Egypt if Qadi al-Nu’man is to be believed). That kind of pedigree does make a difference. Also, a fountain pen does not write on just any surface – use too thin a paper and the ink stains even the back of the paper, too thick and it refuses to dry, too porous and the words become illegible blotches. The selection of writing materials, then, is not to be undertaken lightly if you want to use fountain pens.

With so many choices necessary before one actually writes, it follows of course that one must indeed be determined to write. Irrespective of the actual worth of what is written, the sheer trouble taken to set the stage, so to speak, creates the proper mood for writing.