Penning memories…
It exhaled completely and dived deep into the jet black abyss below. As it plunged deeper and deeper, it inhaled bit by bit while my fingers desperately grasped the plunger at it’s belly and swiftly slid it backwards until it was full and could inhale no more. It then made it’s way out in the open air, full and ready to roll.
I am not speaking of swimming/diving. One wouldn’t swim like this, even on paper. But, my companion does, every time I want it to assist me in my weekly endeavor. I am speaking of my humble ink pen. I make it go through this arduous process every time it runs dry and needs to be filled to capacity to be put to motion again.
Ah! Ink pens! They take me back to school days when after graduating from pencil and eraser in elementary school, we were mandated to use only ink pens for our daily school work. Hence entered fountain pens into our lives. Called ‘fountain’ because it’s belly filled with ink like a fountain. It was the most commonly used one followed by what we called ‘China pens’, ones that had it’s fore end shaped like the snout of a dolphin and it’s belly could be squeezed to allow for the vacuum apparatus to pull the ink in.
So, it was either Fountain pens or the China pens. Gel pens gave one an impeccable handwriting, but didn’t last very long. Ball pens on the other hand were strictly prohibited. It had earned the notoriety of spoiling ones handwriting. Well, you should see mine now. This is until we grew up and had no one to police our pen choices. We gladly rebelled with cheap ball point pens.
Ball point pens were hassle free, didn’t require all of the reverse diving techniques and one could speed with it as much as one wanted. It just glid swiftly over paper like skates over ice and one could see it’s fuel tank emptying through the clear glass exterior and hence didn’t spring nasty surprises in the midst of a writing marathon. We called the fuel tank, a refill. A misnomer because it was seldom refilled, only replaced.
It is ironic, but frugally buying ball pens allowed for extravagance. You didn’t require a standby pen on most days and one could afford to doodle in the margins while the teacher droned away. Because, who wanted to know about the renaissance? It was a fancy term for ‘change’ and the only renaissance I looked forward to was for the monotony of the day to change with maybe a PE period. In fact, I found history so dead pan boring in school that when I was once asked to speak impromptu for a few minutes on a subject I disliked, I decided to ramble about my tryst with ‘History’. Even there I was at a loss for words to fill in the stipulated time. I am not sure why I didn’t choose ‘mathematics’. I think I found basic math useful, sometimes even fun. The complicated math, the geniuses can go figure.
While some of the boys in class indulged in pen fights, I on the other hand had actual fights with my sibling over pens. He was most often responsible for swindling away my stationary thus causing me embarrassment in school the next day.
Even in med school, we wrote poems seated at the far end of the class. Silly ones, but anything that kept one awake and made you look like you were seriously taking notes because as it turns out, incessantly rambling about GlycosoAminoGlycans could either actually make you GAG or put you to sleep, and neither was allowed.
Our pens save the day when all else fails. It gives me voice. It allows me to emote whether it is anger, sadness or exhilaration. It allows me to communicate to friends halfway across the globe. Yeah, I still write letters and post it to my friend and even expect one in return. The best I get is a very late email. That is why it made my heart sing when I received my niece’s letter. Typing on a keyboard with autocorrect isn’t the same as putting pen to paper. For me, words just flow much more easily this way.
The pen allows me catharsis. It is therapy.
So, as the ink empties itself and the plunger drops, I inhale a new lease of life. As words tumble out, I find solace again. My words need not get me a thousand likes, it is a deep dive into the abyss of my soul and as I surge back up, I am filling myself with hope again.
