The Sacred Art of Writing Longhand

I admit to being old-fashioned: besides updating my blog daily, I also keep a handwritten journal. I have been jotting down my thoughts on diaries ever since I was a 13 year old teenager, destroying lots of trees in the process.

Even though it is an excruciatingly slow process, there are certain unique pleasures in writing longhand: The languid caress of a fountain pen on a sheet of crisp-clean paper, the luxuriant flow of ink slowly infusing life to words as they form magically under the rhythmic stroke of my wrist; to me it is a ritual steeped in deep mystical significance -- it is an act of meditation in itself.

A handwritten piece conveys a lot more than its printed version: words written by hand is at once a visual sketch and an exposition of once's thoughts. Everyone's handwriting is not surprisingly, unique. Handwritten words carry within their whorls and waves a frozen snapshot of the dynamic energies at work in the act of creation.

Writing is thinking in motion. Many of us write to clarify our thoughts and to be able to see things in a more objective manner. Writing, especially writing in longhand, can also be a cathartic experience: The drudgery of pushing one's pen over page after page of paper can leave one spent but surprisingly contented -- one feels like a spritually ecstatic Odissi dancer at the end of a flawless performance.

Modern word processors and web publishing tools have made the physical labour of writing easier and has enabled us to communicate our thoughts and ideas more efficiently. I have written a lot more using computers than I could ever write in longhand. But I will never cease to write my personal journal the old-fashioned way, with pen and paper. It is the sacred signature of my existence.