Signed, sealed, but not discarded: The enduring tale of paper

Mrs Basu, the pseudo-environmentalist, had nails sharper than her arguments and a voice that could strip paint off walls. She sat there, perfectly perched in her designer heels, nestled in her animal-printed leggings, clutching a leather handbag worth a small country’s GDP. And then, with the confidence of someone who has just read a half-baked X- post, she declared:

“Why are you even bothering with my daughter’s handwriting? No one writes on paper anymore! Stop wasting time and save the environment.”

I was her child’s teacher. I wanted to say something about her air conditioner guzzling electricity or the emissions from her SUV, but I took a deep breath instead (a luxury, given the pollution levels). But probably she did not know that paper can be recycled and is bio-degradable. Pulp and paper companies often are accused of cutting down trees to make paper. However, a large percentage of the fiber used for paper-making comes from recycled paper. Most of the remaining wood is obtained either through forest thinning (removing slow-growing or defective trees) or from lumber milling residues, materials that otherwise would go unused. We all want to do our bit for the planet. But if you really love trees, shouldn’t you be planting more or rebelling against real-estate promoters that cut down forest after forest, instead of ranting about your “paperless” lifestyle? So, the wisdom lies in using such precious resources judiciously.

Let’s talk about ‘paper’ for a moment, that beautiful, tactile, irreplaceable thing. There’s something almost spiritual about putting pen to paper. Ever received a handwritten letter? No emoji-laden WhatsApp text can compare to the feeling of tracing the ink of someone’s words, knowing they sat down, took their time, and thought of you.

Mental health experts now recommend journaling as therapy. Apparently, scribbling down our thoughts and feelings helps with stress, anxiety, and overall well-being. Who knew? All those years of writing dramatic diary entries about broken friendships and stolen lunch boxes, turns out, I was just way ahead of my time.

Then there are the books. The real ones. With pages that smell of libraries, history, and nostalgia. The feeling of flipping through a well-worn novel, discovering scribbled notes in the margins, or finding a flower pressed between the pages, these are small joys that a Kindle just cannot replicate. My bookshelves aren’t just furniture, they’re living, breathing reminders of different eras of my life. I don’t altogether “write-off” books read on Kindle, I do too but only when I am not supposed to switch on the night lamp and disturb my slumbering co-sleeper. Reading as a habit is growing extinct, hence one feels that even if people read an e-book, it’s fine, desperate times! But try hugging an e-book. My version of ‘hugging’ means writing my response to what the writer has written, using a pencil, inhaling the smell of printed lines.. It’s just not the same.

Mrs Basu, of course, doesn’t believe in physical newspapers either. “Such a waste of paper! Just read the news on X,” she announced while conveniently forgetting that paper is biodegradable, but discarded electronics? It takes one look at the growing mountains of e-waste to make you wonder if our obsession with the digital world is really as environmentally friendly as we think.

When schools announce a “paperless” day with a celebratory flourish, I find myself pondering, can such a thing truly exist? The declaration seems, at best, a well-meaning illusion, at worst, a grand oversight of the omnipresence of paper in our lives. It is there, unseen yet indispensable, woven into the very fabric of our existence. In the quiet intimacy of a morning routine, paper lingers in the form of bathroom tissue, the soft caress of a facial wipe, the sterile security of a hospital gown. It lurks in the rigid folds of an envelope, the sturdy embrace of a cardboard box, the crisp confidence of a file folder, the grocery laden, attractive paper bags. It shapes our homes, hidden within the insulation that shields us from the elements, the grainy persistence of sandpaper smoothing out imperfections, the gypsum board forming the walls we take for granted. Even in moments of leisure, paper is a silent companion, the snap of playing cards against a tabletop, the gentle tug of a kite string against the wind, the whispered shuffle of game pieces on a board. And of course, the very currency we trade in, the notes that slip from hand to hand, bear testament to the inescapable dominion of paper. A “paperless” world? It is, I suspect, a paradox, one that betrays an obliviousness to the invisible forces that shape our everyday lives.The other day, I saw a sign outside a restroom: “Save paper, use both sides.” I laughed so hard I nearly needed a tissue (also paper, by the way).

So, before we mindlessly chant the “down with paper” slogan, let’s pause. What about birthday cards? Love letters? Old family albums with curling photographs? The poetry-laden diary from your teenage years? The inheritance of a grandfather’s handwritten notes? These aren’t just things. They are pieces of us, stored forever in ink and texture and time.

The day paper becomes obsolete, I will know that humanity has officially turned into a herd of robotic typists, devoid of all warmth, depth, and nostalgia. Until then, I’ll keep filling my notebooks, doodling on the margins, and writing lists I may never check off. Some things are too precious to be replaced by a blinking cursor.