When I was in fifth standard, there was a teacher who taught me Physics & Chemistry, who absolutely hated my handwriting. She made it a point to mention it at every possible opportunity. I remember taking chocolates to her on my birthday and she said, “Happy Birthday. Improve your handwriting“. Such a pleasant wish. My notebooks even had the honour of experiencing flying first hand because she used to love throwing it in the air everyday, after glancing at my writing. I used to scamper from my seat to pick it up everytime.

This bothered me a lot, because all of her taunts, screaming and the notebook flying lessons were done in front of the entire class. I used to have anxiety attacks when I saw her period on the timetable. The next year I changed schools, not because of this, but to opt a different syllabus. 

On the first day at the new school, I was writing notes that the chemistry teacher was dictating. She came and stood near me, peering into my notebook as she dictated. I felt a cold sweat break out on my neck and I waited with bated breath for the onslaught. “Nice handwriting.”, she commented and walked to the front of the class. Was she being sarcastic? I will never know. All I remember is staring at her, glassy-eyed, for the rest of the period. No one made any comments on my writing while in that school. 

In college, my handwriting was sought after because it somewhat resembled an E.C.G of someone’s heartbeat. Everyone found it to be pretty though it was still a little difficult to comprehend. It also looked adult enough to forge leave letters, permission letters, write requests and so on. 

Now everytime someone gives me a nice comment on my handwriting, my memory takes me back a few years and I can still see the vision of my notebook flying across the classroom.

Picture courtesy : Pinterest

Advertisements