The magic of 'inkless' pen

humour

The year was 1948. I was just a tiny tot studying in Children’s Garden School when my father gifted me a ballpoint pen, bought in Singapore. The ballpoint pen was so strange an object in India that even its name was in obscurity. School children were allowed to write only in pencils. To scribble with a Fountain pen was a bonanza for a school boy.

Barging into my classroom with pomp and pride, holding that ‘inkless pen’, I was stunned to notice the reactions among my schoolmates.

The hallmark of its virtue was the benefit of dispensing with the cumbersome process of refilling it with ink. “Amazing!” exclaimed one of my pals, and this was soon followed with a flood of submissions for a trial with the inkless pen, a prodigious object in their eyes.

Affixing signature with this innovating writing material captivated their imagination. Virtues of this inkless pen spread like forest fire in the school, and boys trooped in to have a look at it, rivalling with each other.

I had never tasted any commercial food as it was a taboo according to my mummy. A brainwave struck me. I launched a barter system, which yielded rich dividends. Their submissions were conceded on the spot in return for a variety of eatables. Eatables with which I dumped my stomach included popcorn, popsicle and nuts. Never have I felt that kind of fullness in my stomach. Overjoyed, my spirits shined through my body. From zero I was elevated to the status of a hero.

On returning home, I developed an effervescent enthusiasm to clear all my arrears of homework. I endlessly wrote and wrote. While it was all smooth sailing, my passionate possession got stuck, disobeying my command to write. Every effort to resuscitate it was futile. Drunk with hope, I contacted Spencer’s. They were the ones who identified ‘the problem’, enlightening me about ballpoint pens. It never dawned on me to give it a refill. How I was a distilled idiot to presume a ballpoint pen would never go dry!

Once a precious possession, its fate was now a junk, fit for jumble sale. Tons of tears trickled down my cheeks when I consigned it to the dust bin. Rubbing salt to the wounds, my mummy lashed me with her tongue for consuming junk food.

I was submerged in sorrow. How I soared like a meteor at dawn, only to be dropped like a hot potato at the dusk! What a wretched life! It’s all totally disgusting and detestable. On an introspection, a glorious message flashed across my mind. Is it joy or sorrow? Both are ephemeral. How true when Emerson said, “God is playing fool on us.”

Everything is impermanent. Then, what is permanent? Answering this nagging question, the renowned philosopher J Krishnamurti answered, “Nothing is permanent. Search for permanency alone is permanent.”