It was red and teal. My first ink-pen. Then it was the first
step to growing up. Pencils were for kids. Twelve years later it’s not very
different.
I had a terrible hand-writing, so my teacher in Class IV
would not let me use an ink-pen. The rest of my class, however had made the
transition.
But the inevitable happened, I was in Class V and everyone
has to write with a pen in class V. I spent hours at the local stationery shop,
looking for my first ink-pen. The Chinese nib ones, were not good. Our teacher
was particularly critical of them, so they were a big no. Parker or Pierre
Cardin were not for beginners, Mont Blanc was
out of question.
So I settled for a red and teal ink-pen with a silver nib.
The ink-tank in that pen had an injection mechanism. This made my very ordinary
pen, very cool.
Thus began my affair with ink-pens. My hand-writing was
still not very good. But I believed that a good pen would make a big difference.
So I spent a lot of time at the stationery store, trying out different pens.
Then on a certain birthday my father gave me the most
beautiful ink-pen ever. It was black with golden rims. It made paper feel like
silk. It made my untidy hand-writing legible.
We were perfect together. It set in my palms, like it was made to be there. Writing with it was a pleasure.
Exams, class notes, homework as long as there was something to write.
I’d start all my exams with that pen. With it I managed to
clear most of my tests with decent grades. It was good, it could not have been
better than this. I had found my magic.
I was writing my final exams for Class VIII. As always, I
had my beautiful pen with me and we started out on yet another examination
journey together.
English language and literature papers were always very satisfying.
After once such paper, I told the girl who sat in front of me about my
beautiful pen. About how well it wrote and how good we were together. That the
colour and the model of this pen was not easily available in the market now. I
was very-very proud.
Then, before our next paper, my pen was gone. It was very
disturbing. I had just kept it in my box, where could it go? I bought another colour of the same model. It was horrible. It looked the same,
but it wrote like dried wood.
Before our last paper, the girl who sat in front of showed
the new ink-pen she had bought recently to me. It was black with golden rims.
She said it wrote beautifully. I knew it did.
I shed a few tears before going the bed. I cursed the day, I
told her about my pen. I cursed her for taking it away for me.
After that, I did not write with an ink-pen again. My pen
was gone. It was with someone who did not even value it. It was over.
I moved on to gel pens. They were new and cool. I collected
loads of them in different colours. I had my favourities there too. Then I fell
further and moved to cheap disposable ball-point pens. Now, it’s mostly the
keyboard.
After almost 12 years, I thought of going back to the ink-pen. I went to the staitonery shop and asked for one. They looked at me like I
had asked for a dinosaur egg. They threw the Chinese nib ones at me, and I said
no, instantly. Then the owner walked in and pulled out some old, dusty boxes.
I automatically went for the black pen with golden rims. It
was not the same. So I settled for a simple grey pen.
When I wrote my first sentence, my hands quivered like they
did when I was in Class V. I am re-learing and re-writing. It‘s like I am
writing for the first time. The feeling has not concrete definition.
It’s like meeting a long-lost friend. Or meeting someone you
liked after many-many years and realising that you never stopped liking them.
Then you wonder, why did you ever give up on them, if you liked them so much in
the first place?
I don’t know how it works with people, but I know that I can
hope to find my magic again. I have found my long-lost friend. I have found the
one I always liked, and I am not going to stop till we fall in love with each
other. Together we will weave beautiful stories. We’ll create worlds beyond and
our dreams.
….and this time I am not telling anyone about us.
