Of Paper and Pen...
I miss paper. The pen. The discipline. The thought which had to be well-defined before it was put down. The silence needed when one had to pen-down a few lines for someone.
It isn't like that with email. There are too many distractions. The google ads. The urge to check other emails or another page in the middle of composition. The pressure to craft it perfectly with those quotes and nuggets of wisdom freely available over the internet. And worst is that its all so easily deletable and redo-able. Very unlike the scratchings of the hand written letter which would make the writer's muddiness apparent to the reader.
I'm from the old school. I wrote to my cousins and friends till I was in college. I dearly keep and read the letters and cards received over the last 15 years. I believe in making birthday cards than buying ready-made ones - a culture that I've proudly passed on to my siblings. We had telephones, but I preferred paper. The envelopes. The stamps. And the sweet ritual.
The eccentricity remains till date.
I abhor digital prints on walls. I love wooden furniture and find laminated furniture repelling. While I'm not able to exercise my choice over everything, I can't make terms with these. A lot of people question and ridicule my belief. But I think there is a difference.
A wooden table is way better than a laminated one because it will weather with me. Years later, when I sit for my cup of tea, the contours and the scrapes will have stories to tell. A mark left by the molten candle which fell off a birthday cake or scratch during house-shifting.
A table with synthetic laminates will stay new for too long and will probably mock at me when I grow old.
Sadly, I haven't recieved many letters after 2007. I have emails. Long and short. Emotional and argumentative. From family, friends and bizarre acquaintances which I prize but cannot grow old with.
Because there is a feeling about an old handwritten letter, a feeling which an email can never impart.
I miss paper. The pen. The discipline. The thought which had to be well-defined before it was put down. The silence needed when one had to pen-down a few lines for someone.
It isn't like that with email. There are too many distractions. The google ads. The urge to check other emails or another page in the middle of composition. The pressure to craft it perfectly with those quotes and nuggets of wisdom freely available over the internet. And worst is that its all so easily deletable and redo-able. Very unlike the scratchings of the hand written letter which would make the writer's muddiness apparent to the reader.
I'm from the old school. I wrote to my cousins and friends till I was in college. I dearly keep and read the letters and cards received over the last 15 years. I believe in making birthday cards than buying ready-made ones - a culture that I've proudly passed on to my siblings. We had telephones, but I preferred paper. The envelopes. The stamps. And the sweet ritual.
The eccentricity remains till date.
I abhor digital prints on walls. I love wooden furniture and find laminated furniture repelling. While I'm not able to exercise my choice over everything, I can't make terms with these. A lot of people question and ridicule my belief. But I think there is a difference.
A wooden table is way better than a laminated one because it will weather with me. Years later, when I sit for my cup of tea, the contours and the scrapes will have stories to tell. A mark left by the molten candle which fell off a birthday cake or scratch during house-shifting.
A table with synthetic laminates will stay new for too long and will probably mock at me when I grow old.
Sadly, I haven't recieved many letters after 2007. I have emails. Long and short. Emotional and argumentative. From family, friends and bizarre acquaintances which I prize but cannot grow old with.
Because there is a feeling about an old handwritten letter, a feeling which an email can never impart.
