Before Instagram, there was ink: A love letter to autograph books

Before emojis and Instagram, friendships were written in ink. Remember the thrill of flipping open an autograph book and discovering your friends’ scribbles, doodles, and secret messages waiting inside? That little notebook was more than paper and ink — it was a time capsule, capturing laughter, secrets, and the everyday drama of school life long before social media existed.

If you are still a pimpled teen, you may not even know what one is. No, it wasn’t Instagram’s ancestor or a prehistoric iPad. It was a small, brightly bound notebook that became a treasure chest of memories — filled with signatures, notes, and doodles that were ambitious, if not exactly artistic.

Autograph books actually go back centuries. The first versions appeared in Germany in the 1500s, when university students carried “friendship albums” to collect notes, poems, and signatures from classmates and professors. Over time, the idea spread across Europe and beyond. By the time autograph books reached Indian schools, they had transformed into something livelier — part diary, part confessional, part detective agency.

Signatures of tennis stars

I had one in school. It carried messages from classmates, notes from teachers, and, to my pride, the signatures of a few Indian tennis stars I managed to corner after a match in Allahabad. No other famous names graced its pages, but at that age, even a slightly wobbly autograph from a sportsman felt like gold dust.

The books themselves were often small and brightly decorated — sometimes with velvet covers, sometimes with embossed flowers or patterns. Inside, the pages were filled with colourful borders, faint illustrations, and generous space for people to write. They weren’t just notebooks; they were keepsakes. If a diary was where you spoke to yourself, an autograph book was where your world spoke back to you.

'Profile wall'

The real craze, though, was the “profile wall” at the back. Friends would fill in their name, date of birth, favourite colour, favourite dish, and best pastime. But the most eagerly awaited sections were always “Favourite Boy” and “Favourite Girl.” That was where the drama unfolded — less about hobbies and more about discovering who liked you, and whether you were anyone’s favourite. For a teenager, that was headline news.

And oh, the poetry! If you’ve ever flipped through an old autograph book, you’ll know exactly what I mean:

• Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet — and so are you.

• Forget me not, or else you’ll rot. (Yes, friendship was clearly a matter of life and death.)

• Some drew hearts, some drew arrows, and some ambitious souls tried to play Cupid with couplets that would make Shakespeare weep — for all the wrong reasons.

The drama, the innocence, the absolutely ridiculous rhymes — it was comedy gold.

Two books to play safe

Some kids were so cautious, they maintained two autograph books: one for teachers, adult relatives, and the occasional semi-celebrity (safe, respectable, boring), and another “under-the-desk edition” for friends, where all the daring notes were hidden away. This was the one filled with flirty little declarations like “Roses are red, violets are blue, I secretly like you — and hope you like me too.” Harmless fun, but at the time it felt like high treason.

I still have my autograph book somewhere. I haven’t seen it in years, but knowing it’s there brings back a flood of memories — faces, laughter, friendships — preserved forever in crooked handwriting and smudged ink.

A word of encouragement

When I began teaching in the 1980s, autograph books were still very much alive. Students would bring them to me, eager for a signature or a few words. I never wrote casually. I paused to think about what to say — a quote, a word of encouragement, something that might linger long after the ink had faded. Who knows? A sentence in an autograph book might have made someone smile, reflect, or even see life a little differently.

It was only around 2010 that autograph books began to fade, replaced by WhatsApp forwards, Instagram stories, and digital yearbooks. The messages became faster, flashier, and more forgettable. Yet the magic of those handwritten notes — smudges, crooked letters, little hearts in the corner — can never be replaced.

Somewhere in a cupboard, an old autograph book waits — crooked handwriting, smudged ink, and all — and with it, the tiny, messy, perfect memories of a thousand schooldays, just waiting for us to open the cover again.

Because while phones and apps may change, the joy of a friend’s words written in ink is timeless.

Michael Guzder is Senior Vice-President of Education at GEMS and a former Principal