One beautiful afternoon, sitting in my history class glancing towards my partner’s hand racing on the sheet like a spider’s legs, I gasped, are these hands the creator of this mesmerizing handwriting! Needless to say, all I did for the next 30 minutes was to stare at her lucid hands and convoluted handwriting. My monotonous schedule now included comparing handwritings with hands. Sometimes, Gracefulness of handwriting turned out to be directly proportional to the structure of hands and other times, it was the opposite. Clearly, mathematics didn’t work here. There was no cold logic, not that I could see. I was 12. As I grew, I noticed the difference in the pattern in my own script and as meticulous as I was, I reached the conclusion that the better the mood I was in, more defined my handwriting got. The psychological aspect of my brain somehow seemed to govern and give directions to my little fingers. I devoted a separate classmate register to my little discovery, a page for each alphabet. On each page were scribbled a’s, b’s and so on and of course my deliberate calculations as to how I became slightly different with every change I brought in each alphabet. Now I had found the key to transformation, “change your handwriting, change yourself”. An intriguing business plan it seems, I know. I was 14. And then one day, internet came to existence. My cousin suggested that I try Google, it answered all the questions we asked. ‘Handwriting Analysis’ was now termed ‘graphology’. It surely brought a tinge of happiness but more of a wave of sadness. The world had already known my little discovery all along.
The next few years followed by me dragging my mother to World book fair, Pragati Maidan, and scrutinizing every corner till I found my treasure, another book on ‘graphology’! My mom, like every other Indian mother could not resist blabbing in front of her colleagues what hidden traits her daughter possessed along with sanguinely accepting their proposal of having their handwritings analyzed. Now, my business started to grow. Saturday’s were now reserved for applicants gladly wanting me to judge them (and I did judge them).
And then, things got a bit a dull. No, I didn’t get cancer AND my boyfriend didn’t die of cancer either. Yes, I got into 11th grade. And then I got into college. That’s when it struck me- Why not make a business out of it?
From then on, I’ve been blabbing to everyone, expecting that the next time I give slight innuendos of being busy, they might just ask, “Er, Do you take cash too”?