Autobiography of old fountain pens
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I was born in a pen factory and they make luxurious pens. My company was founded by George Safford Parker in the year 1888. I am a fountain pen and I am golden and black in color. I was displayed in a stationary shop and I heard many people talking and passing by. Since I was a little expensive people never picked me up. They always chose the others and I always felt very sad and disappointed as even I wanted to be picked by someone. Time went on and I was still waiting for someone to come and pick me up.
One day a young boy came to buy a pen in this store. He looked at many pens and in the end, he chose me. The little boy chose me and I was a little surprised because he was too young to write with a fountain pen. He looked at me and smiled and I felt happy. I thought great pleasure being in his hands as he looked at me lovingly and his eyes were full of joys. He then asked the store manager to get it wrapped. He got me the gift wrapped in a nice red colored paper and on it he wrote Thank You. I was packed inside and it was all black. I could not see what was happening outside and I was getting anxious.
The little boy was humming something and he reached his home. He gave the box to someone and I could hear a pretty voice. The girl person opened the box and I saw her. She was the mother of that boy. She hugged her son and said thank you. My lady boss was a housewife but before that, she was a writer. She wanted to be a poet but she had her own restrictions. Her son inherited the talent of writing from her and so he thanked her for giving him such genes. Today, my boss is a very big poet and wherever she goes she carries me along. If she had to sign an autograph she signs it with me. I am very precious to her as I was the gift to her from her son. I am very glad that the little boy in that shop picked me up and made me so special in her life. We have the power as we are mightier than the sword. My boss used me to express her feelings to the world and today we both are very happy.
HOPE THIS HELPS YOU.....
I am an old fountain pen now finding my place in a dark corner of a cupboard of my master Sri Rajan, who is no more. I belong to the family of 'Black Birds'. I was manufactured in England 55 years ago and was shipped to Madras for sale. Messrs Simpsons on the Mount Road, Madras was our wholesale dealer. From there I was sent to 'Pen Corner' in Georgetown, Madras. Mr. Rajan, then a young boy of 16 appearing for the matriculation examination, bought me for Rs. 3/-.
I felt happy that I got a new master, a brilliant young lad whom I am going to serve for some years. My color was black and my nib was gold-coated with a firm point. My writing was smooth and it was like sailing on calm waters. I preferred 'Swan' ink, blue or black. It was my master's choice to select the ink. My master first used me to take his matriculation examination. Whether it was due to his hand writing or my beautiful flow I cannot say, but he passed his examination with distinction. That helped me to gain the love of my master who then onwards considered me as a lucky possession. I was always his companion finding my place comfortably in the pocket of his neat shirts. We both developed an inseparable intimacy and he believed that his progress in education and getting a good executive job in government through direct recruitment as a Revenue Divisional Officer was all due to me.
Many pens costlier and more beautiful came his way. But I never lost my place of privilege on their account, from my master. They were also used. But for anything important or sacred, I was to be there for my master to write. I enjoyed the privilege of a Royal Queen.
Then came a change in the clan of pens. Ink pens gave place to ball point pens. Everyone preferred the new variety, as it avoids the need for frequent refilling with ink. As any other young man getting attracted to things new and fashionable, my master too preferred a ball point pen. Then he started ignoring me, which I never dreamt of. Still my attachment to my master was so sentimental that he never gave up my use altogether. On ceremonial occasions and personal matters, it was I who was preferred. It was I who wrote all his letters of love to his dear wife. It was I who wrote the news of his first born and still it was I who wrote the marriage invitations of his first boy. That was my great association with my master.
Time rolls on and the retirement of my boss and his exit from the beautiful world followed soon. With none to take care of me and none to recognize the important events in my life.