I recently got a surprise gift for my birthday. It was an iPad Air, my very first tablet. I downloaded Pages on it and typed a little rather tentatively.
The iPad Air is a really sleek, thin, shiny thing, cool and smooth to the touch. The experience of typing feels a bit different from my now relatively old laptop with its chicklet keys, short, square and almost noiseless, which had felt so smart and new when I’d first got the notebook compared to my older, bulkier, back-breaking laptops.
As I heard the distinct kchchh sound each virtual key made as I hit it, the experience I savoured seemed familiar even though the device was new. I flew back in time over two decades to a very old incident from childhood, inspired by a feeling of awe and wonder at the stylish new device. A similar kchchh sound surfaced from deep down in memory made by something when it had clicked shut a long time ago.
It was in a classroom in Calcutta in Class III when an eight year old girl, sitting on the third row from the back, turned around to look at something wonderful another eight year old had brought to school and placed on her desk.
This was a fellow student whose parents had returned from a trip to Singapore, or China, or London, or the US and had brought back a magnetic pencil box. (It didn’t matter exactly where they’d returned from because, never having been outside the state of West Bengal in conscious memory myself, it was simply a case of Home and the World for me. Home in Calcutta was the familiar, the mundane, the place full of ordinary things while the World was full of shiny, smooth, sleek objects that you got a glimpse of when foreign-returned people came back with their stories and expensive-looking suitcases getting off of airplanes that I’d never been on.)
The coveted object was a magnetic pencil box, soft on the outside, covered in some kind of synthetic, brightly coloured fabric with pictures filled with padding. It had magnets that helped it close with a soft thud rather than the loud click of plastic pencil boxes everyone else in class had including me. While some such magnetic pencil boxes had made their way into air-conditioned stationery stores in New Market or maybe Gariahat, ordinary stores didn’t even carry them. But none, I was sure, carried one like the one in front of us.
This one had a three-storied cross section, a top, middle and bottom compartment with a battery-operated radio embedded on one side and a pencil sharpener on the other. None of us had seen anything like it before. I still remember the wonder and awe with which we examined it, one by one, during tiffin time.
I’d lost touch with the girl a very long time ago. The girl, now a woman and mother of two, recently sent me a Friend’s Request on Facebook. Ironically, I could remember nothing else about her except a face and that magnetic pencil box as I accepted her.
I still retain some of that childish wonder about beautiful writing implements. Even now I’ll catch myself browsing sale bins at office stores for a set of colourful pencils or some bright sticky notes. I bought a pack of pencils last year, not the wooden kind but the plastic kind where you rotate the back and the graphite core comes out–a rare and highly coveted object in my school days–but now on sale by the dozen for only a couple of dollars.
It’s been a year and the unopened pack of pencils still adorns my shelf. I hardly write any more, with a pencil or pen anyway. The occasion rarely arises when I have to write on paper. A few scribbled notes here and there perhaps, a task for which a single pencil will survive more than a year. The ink in my ballpoint pens never runs out anymore because they’re never used.
Perhaps with this new iPad, I won’t even need to scribble anymore. Perhaps a long and fascinating relationship with pens and pencils and paper, fascinating for me anyway, is about about to come to an end soon.
They say all good relationships end when it’s time. Mine probably started when another one of a different generation was already over. I know that we weren’t always using pens and pencils the way I grew up using them. When we were writing with ballpoint pens for example, ghosts of writings past had haunted our classrooms even then, in school and then in college.
Both the school and college I attended had heavy wooden desks still in use in the classrooms from the late nineteenth century. Those desks were easily identifiable by their weight and by a very distinctive hole that they had on the top, left hand corner surface, a place where the ink pots would go in during exams perhaps, before fountain pens came into the scene, when ink pellets would have to be dissolved in water to make ink to be used by students. We had never seen those pellets and hardly used even fountain pens in college although the colour Royal Blue still makes me think of a blue ink pot with the logo of a camel on it.
In one way, despite my smooth new iPad, the materiality of the writing process seems to be disappearing fast. There’s no one sheet of paper or a single handwriting with a certain smudge that I can remember connected to a specific piece of writing. There’s no specific fountain pen with a golden cap that I can remember when I think of a piece I wrote or a certain bound notebook with the logo of an exercise book maker in Bengali on top when I think of an essay.
This is very different from the way it used to be for a long time. I remember going to an exhibition at the New York Public Library called Shelley’s Ghost: The Afterlife of a Poet. Walking into the exhibit was like walking right into the body of work of the Romantics and a few others quite literally. The room was full of writing–drafts, letters, notes, scraps of paper, even locks of hair –objects that made my hair stand on end with the strangeness of it all and made me feel a bit like I was was encroaching on other people’s privacy now long dead. Similarly, a glimpse of Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre in her own hand at the British Library had made the whole novel came alive for me with a material reality I had never apprehended in print before.
Prose and poetry, at their very inception, are not going to be embodied by such materiality for much longer.
Memories attached to the writing process are going to change form as well. In fact, earlier, at a very personal level, if I was writing something, I could remember sitting at my desktop, in a specific corner of my room and words on a thick-set monitor on a very sparse, no-frills, early version of WORD. Now, I’m able to write on the laptop, on the Smartphone and on the tablet. In each place, my writing looks different. Rendered on different themes on content management systems or on more and more complex word processing documents, they look very different on each platform. Associations of space, place or form with the writing process with any kind of certainty is not possible any more.
It is as though writing has been freed from materiality in its various avatars. We must recognize its soul in its various forms. Writing no longer seems personal either dissociated from the mark of the writer be it through handwriting or a controlled, printed format. It constantly carries marks of invisible hands of spellcheckers, auto formatting programs and various other small nuances that make one realize that there are others involved as we write .
Yet, perhaps this is nothing new. Perhaps the oral poet in ages past had felt the same when he heard his own lyrics sung in different voices. Perhaps it’s just the same experience coming back to us in a new form. Perhaps we must learn to accept it and its new materiality.
18 thoughts on “Writing Implements of Wonder”
You are very talented to be a writer, continues to dig your talent, because very few people are gifted like you
“There’s no one sheet of paper or a single handwriting with a certain smudge that I can remember connected to a specific piece of writing. There’s no specific fountain pen with a golden cap that I can remember when I think of a piece I wrote or a certain bound notebook with the logo of an exercise book maker in Bengali on top when I think of an essay.”
This is the place where you captured me. Very nice, indeed.
Your writing is wonderful and fluent. Keep it up. Thank you for coming by my blog. I value your comments. Rubies Corners now has 286 followers, because of people who come by and tap in. Thank you.
I just love this post. I haven’t thought about the fountain pens or pencil boxes of my childhood in Bangladesh for many years. We use pens and pencils at my house, once again, because my children are in school. I prefer typing to writing longhand; it’s so much easier to move things around the way I do in my mind and I’m a far faster typist than writer. Honestly, I don’t think I would write at all were it not for the ease of a keyboard.
On a pragmatic level: I don’t know about anyone else, but I find touch typing on a virtual keyboard impossible. I picked up a combination smart cover/bluetooth keyboard that works well.
On a philosophical level: as a brush shapes the painting, so too do a writer’s tools shape the work. Yet one can enjoy both Vermeer and Banksy.
I still love to write first drafts by hand in a notebook. I have found a favorite brand of pen and now use it almost exclusively. Those first drafts are sometimes nothing more than messy notes but there is something about writing it out that gives the words more meaning. Then I type it into my laptop editing as I go. Like books, I hope that paper and pens will never become a thing of the past. This is a great post. Thank you.
I mostly write on the computer, but I do half-seriously carry a paper notebook. I like the idea of writing by hand, but it’s just so slow
For me computers were a blessed release from my handwriting, which was never beautiful to look at. I love the way you can move letters, words, sentences even paragraphs up or down a page. It makes writing three-dimensional – more like sculpture. Though I always keep one of those plastic propelling pencils nearby for making the odd note.
I write directly on my Macbook. However, I still keep lots of paper handy for my day job and an electric pencil sharpener sits next to the Macbook…
I love this post. While the writing (AND the reading) changes, I agree, I remain stubborn to retain at least a smidge of what makes it special to me – a brand new, clear piece of paper and a Parker fountain pen.
But when an idea jumps out at me, I admit to grabbing my iPad and clicking it in – thus, cheating on my lovely, old-fashioned paper.
Such a lovely post. I rarely use pens and pencils anymore, and rely on Voice Memo for notes. But your post made me shiver, thinking about Charlotte Bronte’s copy of Jane Eyre. How crushing to think the current generation of writers won’t leave the same evidence of their craft. I just might buy a notebook tonight!
A lovely post. The whiff of a just-sharpened pencil, the sheer pleasure of erasing the wrong words and substituting them, the frustration of breaking the tip when over-sharpening, the bliss of using a fountain pen…..all come back to jig the memory cells.
what a great blog post about this intangible aspect of the writing process. i till use paper and pen a lot, but not like i used to. i bang everything out now on my laptop (still can’t bring myself to type on my iPad) and then use my giant red sharpie to write the second draft making notes on the printed page. that works well for me.
but i think you’re right, before the next decade is out, writing will continue to evolve to place where only the old timers like us connect the stories we’ve written with the smell of ink and paper, pencil wood and erasers.
thank you for writing such a poignant post.
Reblogged this on Real Life, Creative & Unscripted.
Happy birthday, BW! Enjoy your new IPad with all its slick sounds. And by the way… I love when you reminisce about your times in Calcutta and your childhood perceptions. Loved the story about the cool girl with the sleek magnetic pencil case. I remember those —they were very cool even where i lived in New York… Regarding writing tools, I remember my father had a fountain pen on his desk – he used it only for signing papers for business. Don’t ask me why? But he did. This was in the 1960’s and early 1970’s…But my father was and is a pen/pencil/supplies guy. That generation…I remember when the “Parker” pens with silver and color and a push button came out…they were called ballpoint pens… – They were very expensive. Then came the Bik pens – the blue ones that wrote so smoothly. I don’t agree that pens/pencils will go out of vogue. I think there will always be a need to write stuff down…..I sure hope so!
There is a recent resurgence in sales of vinyl to music fans…maybe if we consider writing a form of entertainment/art form like music, it is not entirely unthinkable that we might return to the joy of making actual marks on paper as we carve out our thoughts… I kind of hope so.
Your piece also reminds me that I once had a wooden pencil case with a lid that slid inside grooves to close it like a rectangular box. Not very practical considering the weight of my bags these days but I can still smell the wood mixed with the scent of pencil shavings and wish I had one now 🙂
The iPad Air sounds nice – I still use a laptop that is several years old 🙂 The writing process continually changes (as does pretty much everything in our lives). Paper used to be my choice, but now I do most of my writing on the computer because it saves the step of transcribing handwritten work. I can only imagine how the process will evolve in the years to come.