Too often, the only escape is to write.

And then, the technology has soared high; skyrocketed. So much so that, they could even overtake us and control us. Technology gave comfort and convenience a new definition. It has come to occupy the top notch position of this era. You, who doesn't even know me in person can read what I post. As I sit here, post-dinner, I can ramble about all that interests me or I wish to convey.

Computers, keyboards, voice-recognition software that doesn't require one to manually type the instructions is all around me. But you know, what? The old typewriters had a magnificent trait that no touchscreen/keyboard seems to possess. The type-type-type-type-and-bang-that-carriage-back can never be metaphor-ed with whatsoever technology. Beg to differ? Maybe you like the keyboards better, but those typewriters, they leave me awestruck and overwhelmed.

Ernest Hemingway knows it best: "There is nothing to write. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." To bleed is to pour your soul into words. Typewriters seems to be more supportive for the same. Such good lovers they are. They not only listen and embrace our words but also reciprocate. Reciprocate with a loud thud when the carriage hits back. What a support! What a relief!

And then, thirty centimeters away from my fingers, sits my mode of communication. Correction, one among the many modes of communication. A mobile. It doesn't interest me. I use it and it is one thing I can not step out without. But, it doesn't interest me. Whereas, the black landline telephone that is off at the root, packed neatly and placed in one storage bin, interests me. The inquisitive contented feeling of typing the number and waiting for the call to be received is beyond words to describe.

Whatsapp, Facebook, Twitter, Hike, so on and so forth. Words that are found as errors by the computer are the new modes of communication. In my opinion, rather acting as a slaughterer of communication. At the touch of a button, oh no buttons are obsolete, at the touch of the icon on the  screen, one is connected. But do we really converse? "Hi, hello, how are you?" What after that? Aimless and hopeless ramblings which somehow end up with the block icon selection.
Again, the inland letters, telegrams, postcards, air mails interest me. I crave to write letters. I crave to look at them. I crave to send them. The stamps cry out to be used and not just sit in a book of stamp collections. The photos long to be printed and sent out to loved ones rather than being posted online.

And no. I am not against the technological growth. I am not against modernization or social life. Somewhere between the ease of usage we have all lost the zest.
The other day, as I mention the word "letters", I could see my father's face light up with nostalgic happiness. He recalled all the instances wherein he sent letters and received them. The impatience to open up the letters after weeks of waiting and to rush through the words at once can never be replaced with the ignored messages on your mobile.

The language was alive then. The communication was alive. The conversations were alive. Most of all, the happiness was alive (read, 'not through emoticon'). If there was one thing I wanted this year, it would be a typewriter. I strongly feel, I do not belong to this era.

 Meanwhile, I look at my fresh and empty letters, postcards and air mails, alluring me to write and send them on a journey. Time to write. Time to be alive.

© Deekshita Srinivas.