Post - 2 Blogathon
And today, as I was in my study working on my laptop, my hands kept itching. It is not new for it to itch this way. This ticklish itch is different. It isn't synonymous with any blind beliefs of "gaining wealth when your right palm itches" or lack of blood circulation in my hands.
This is only my habit basically. Every time I see a pen on my book in my study (as you see in the picture) my hands have to grab it. And then I either create random graffiti on the book or scribble my own name a few times or get spiritual and write an "Ohm" few times. Some times, I just draw a few smilies.
But I can not resist the itch at all. Now, as it is said, old habits die hard. From very old school times I am accustomed to this. At the same time, my passion for writing. Anything. As a school goer, I would love to write my notes neatly and not leave any opportunity.
Soon, I had begun to pen down poetry. That is when my dad too jumped in and encouraged my itch. He would take me to the corner book store. As he indulged in a conversation with the owner being his friend, I would stroke different pens and colourful books and would take some time to decide on what I would take home. A red velvet diary and a hero pen was my fantasy one year at age 12.
So, I continued with my love for the pens. Most college notes were not spared too from the little graffiti or designs my finger worked on. And till today, I stop by at the stationary section and pick up a pen as an obsession. You will always find one in my bag. Always. Some of my friends hate me when I hold them at gunpoint when they borrow my pen.
"I want my pen back please"- Little notorious for my tantrums. But I am a manufactured product that way. That was Brahma's strategy else who would buy pens often and stock two boxes full of them at age 40, that too in the age of smartphones!
My laptop is accustomed to being accompanied by a pen and a notebook. It absolutely looks incomplete without one of them on the table.
Wait, till you know this interesting aspect of the spouse's point of view. Some times, when he peeped into my study, he reads out what I have been scribbling on my book. Sometimes, when he saw "Sushma Harish" all over one page of the notebook in a different font, angles, and styles, he grins and tells me you are writing our names like a teenager. I have to roll my eyes and remind him, this is my legal name and my "fingers itch". I am just writing my name. After hitting on the keyboard for a while, I can't stop my original itch.
Now, you have to wait to know the kid's point of view. One fine morning, my daughter took a glimpse of my book, settled her gaze on the page, and plonked on the chair. Standing a little away, I observed her lip movements. No audio. She was apparently reading something from my book. I walked up to her and realized I had written a few lines from a prayer I say every day in Kannada. My girl put all her abilities of her bits of Kannada knowledge and tried hard to figure out what it was.
As for my son, in this lockdown, he dreads when I pull out "his book" and my pen.
"Oh no, more homework, you will give me. I know. You are so bossy. Even the teacher does not give so much work". So accused, I stood there for judgment by his sister and father. Both have to diplomatically judge. Hence, I am now advised to give him a regulated amount of writing, and stop buying colourful notebooks for him!
I must admit, only my fingers itch. Not his.
However, I have little or less control over my obsession. Last week, I was to submit my formal introduction to someone who would add it out on some website. I wrote it down in my book as usual and drew out a nice border and sent her a picture of it on WhatsApp. I was glad she accepted it and did not ask if the entire picture had to go as my intro.
Again today, I know many of you would relate to such incidents and all those who are like me hi-five.
There is an anonymous quote I happened to read "Writing to me is thinking through my fingers" and I feel so connected to this.