Write an autobiography of a pen in about 60-70 words.
Hints: made in a small -scale industry ,brand name pasted, put in a wrapper ,sent to the market , bought by a boy, used carelessly, nib broken, ink leaked, blamed the brand ,thrown in a dustbin
please answer
Answers
Answer:
this is the autobiography of pen
I am a pen. A fountain ink pen. Something so insignificant that you don’t waste even one minute of your life thinking about me. But here I am, telling you my story. The pen that has been used to write different tales of so many people has finally got a chance to inscribe his own. I remember the day I came into existence. It was quite a long time ago. I took birth in a place you humans call a factory. All of my parts were inserted one by one through the hands of factory workers.
I remember moving at a fast pace on a conveyor belt. The workmen were handling me with care, and I was growing in size as well as beauty with each additional touch. I have a matte black and steel grey body along with a golden nib. If there had been beauty pageants for pens, I think I would have been a strong contender for sure. After I and my fellow fountain ink pens were ready, we were put into a transparent case. We were then put into a cardboard box in a batch of 100 pens.
The travel was extremely long and tiring. We started out in the back of a truck and soon found ourselves flying in the mighty sky in an aeroplane. We were then unloaded into a truck again and finally reached our destination after around 10 hours. We were ordered by a shop owner in the city of Mumbai. His shop was in Bandra where I’m told that a lot of famous people live.
My friends and I were kept in a glass cupboard. The owner’s servant used to clean the cabinet and dust us daily. Customers were never allowed to touch us without the assistance of the shop owner. I often wondered why we fountain ink pens got so much attention and special treatment. Why weren’t we treated the same way as other ballpoint pens or gel pens? People would come to the shop and buy other pens.
Answer: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.