A good hand is now passe

It looks like it has been ages since I wrote a letter to somebody in my own handwriting; such is the sway computers and mobile phones have come to hold over conventional modes of communication.

Gone are the days when I would sit down at my study table, pick up a pen fitted with that good old copper or brass nib, and dip it into the small inkpot to pen a letter to someone near and dear. Later, the traditional ink pen gave way to fountain pens.

They came in all shapes and sizes and suited all pockets. In fact, I have inherited from my grandfather an old Parker pen which I am preserving as a souvenir.

It has, of course, lost its shine and I am sure that a youngster would twitch his nose on seeing it and doubt my mental state for using such a hackneyed piece.

Fortunately for me, my father had a beautiful handwriting that was the envy of many. With some help from my English teacher, the gift has stayed with me.

Stark contrast

Incidentally, my father's elder brother, a physician of repute, used to write prescriptions that could be deciphered - as the joke goes - only by his dispensary assistant or the chemist. It was really surprising that two siblings came to have such contrasting writing patterns!)

But to be honest, the real credit for it must go to my first teacher, a "maulvi", in whose lap I used to sit to write legible Urdu on the wooden "takhti" (plank). My teacher would hold my palm and move it like a computer's mouse to write the Urdu alphabets.

An artistic hand that I inherited from my father further helped me in making my handwriting pleasing to the eye. At school, we were supposed to do some reading in the library.

While other students would bury their head in the books, I would copy the mastheads of newspapers printed in English, Hindi and Urdu.

I was particularly enamoured by the old English pattern. That brought me compliments from the inspector of schools, an Englishman, when he visited our school and saw some of my artistic works.

Writing in a style that I had inherited from my father and learnt from the Maulvi meant hardly anything to me but it was noticed by others and it made me really happy.

Once I handed over a handwritten text for a telegram to the man sitting at the counter and he asked if I had written it. On hearing "yes", he showed it to a colleague, "Look, this little boy has written this." I felt bloated with pride.

Salutations

I remember how I would use a wide-tipped pen to write a letter to my maternal grandfather and other elderly relations in Urdu with a salutation that was a mix of Persian and Arabic.

After finishing the writing, I would go through the letter several times ensuring that there was no spelling mistake and that it was a perfect legible text. Maybe, the comment of that inspector of schools went to my head.

I always wrote letters in English with a slightly wide nib that would give the text the look of calligraphy. Today, all that is history, thanks to the computer that makes no distinction between good and bad handwriting.

The computer does not let you affix even your signature that could give others an inkling of the quality of your handwriting.

Now you don't have to be careful like me while drawing an artistic 'g' or 'y'. A click on the mouse would do it for you - the PC will turn the text into italics, bold, flowery, Roman, narrow or thin fonts - and wonder what that 'g' nib elders used to talk was all about?

Funny as it may sound, I just realised that my computer says that the word 'nib' was not found in its dictionary. Need I say more?

Lalit Raizada is a writer based in India.