The ability to write (and not type) is I believe an art, art that has been perfected for years and now passed onto us, just like any other tradition. In the digital age, this art is slowly losing its inheritance and worth. The fountain pen used to be epitome of writing skill, with the perfect cursive handwriting gathering applause and applauds. This art is rare to find nowadays. I recall one particular incident, though there would have been many I believe. Once I took a letter my dad wrote to get it xeroxed. The shopkeeper was awestruck to see the beautiful handwriting, and he confesses that he had never seen a Hindi handwriting as beautiful as this one. Maybe I got it from my dad, but I try to write as much as I can. I won’t lie, but this typing has got it’s claw on me too, and I use Evernote to “type” my thoughts, but I also try to write them down. There are only a few letters, but when used gracefully, they form the most beautiful images. Typed stuff seems so drudging, monotonous ; whereas with the handwritten article, there seems to be a feeling attached, a personalized appeal to it. The feeling is fulfilling, after a long tryst with pen and paper, the thought is etched permanently.