The Curious Case of My Handwriting

For years, people have complimented my handwriting. And me? I’ve always brushed it off, playing the humble card like a pro. “Oh, it’s nothing,” I’d say, though secretly, I basked in the quiet joy of knowing my letters could make someone pause mid-page.

Fast forward to now: after a 20-year break from formal learning, I’ve joined a weekend class. Yes, me back to studying after two whole decades. But that’s a story for another day. Today, let’s talk about my handwriting.

It’s complicated. Gone are the days of perfectly aligned letters and elegant loops. My writing now is mood-driven chaos: some days it leans right, some days left and occasionally it goes in directions I didn’t even know existed. Scribbles? Sure. But apparently, it is still worthy of praise.

When I shared my class notes recently, the compliments came rolling in. And I had to laugh. Really? You are praising this scribble? But being me, I also had to show a “Then Vs. Now” for perspective. I dug up my college notes, and the reactions were priceless. Friends were like, “Wow… looks like a printed copy!” And honestly, I couldn’t argue. Back in college, my handwriting was… well, almost legendary.

I remember guys in class asking for my notes because, apparently, my pen could turn ordinary words into pearls. Other girls notes? “Nice try,” they’d think, squinting at their scribbles. Mine, Perfect loops, neat margins and almost hypnotic. The phrase “even if we don’t attend class, Purni’s notes have us covered” became a running joke and a tiny ego booster I never admitted aloud.

But, of course, my batchmates knew how to bring me crashing down from cloud nine. Enter the exams. One day, a classmate got caught using tiny bits of paper to cheat. The teacher reprimanded him but thankfully didn’t escalate it further. Word spread like wildfire and suddenly, I was called to the teacher’s room.

“You helped him.” she said.

Clueless, I tried to process this. He was in another classroom, and I was in another examination hall. -helping? Never happened. Then she showed me the evidence: my perfectly printed-like notes were being micro-Xeroxed for cheating. The same handwriting that everyone had gushed over was now the star player in an exam scandal.

The teacher didn’t punish me, she just told me not to help them. Which I hadn’t. I left in shock, shared the story with my friends, and they burst out laughing. As the tale circulated, I realized my notes had been quietly moonlighting as exam aids. I was so done.

The next semester, a guy came asking for my notes. I said no. His response? “Oh, you give it only to the Tamil guys?” Apparently, my notes had even formed social alliances Tamil group, Maloo group, Gulf Malayalee group, North Indian group. I just sighed, shook my head and walked away.

Now, my handwriting is still praised, and I still act nonchalant about it. But deep down, I know my letters wield more power than I ever intended: the power to make people swoon and apparently, to help them cheat.

The moral - Humility is lovely, but a little quiet pride and maybe caution is priceless, especially when your pen can work magic.