My love affair with ink
Posted by Ahmed Mustafa , Monday, April 5, 2010 9:28 AM
She and I were sitting together when the topic of our bachpan ke din came up. The topic obviously lead to school and for some odd reason came to fountain pens...
It made me realize how much i loved to write as a kid. Whether it was weird poetry, or essays or even make believe songs, writing was always a passion for me. And i guess a huge factor of that was the tool that i used, my fountain pen. I used to love going to the market, buying my dollar waali light blue pen and a small bottle of ink. I even remember the effort that it took to fill the ink in the pen and how it was all worthwhile once the pen started writing smoothly.
As a kid, i was never allowed to use a cartridge pen. Quite frankly it was seen as an unnecessary expense that was meant for rich kids. Thus the cartridge pen became an ideal prize that i was willing to die for. Although it may seem as a childish frivolous indulgence, it was just so cool at the time.
As I write about my love affair with ink, alot of memories have come flooding back and i just remembered the first time i saw a parker. The parker pen was the epitome of ink tools at the time, the bmw of pens per say...atleast in my world. I remember that i would go to stationary shops in Islamabad and just go and stand and stare at the Parker range that they would have,...and it was worth it. The beautiful contours of the nib, were something that were the very definition of class and elegance at that point in time...and nothing could come close.
I got my first Parker on a birthday. It was a grey steel hand me down that i had silently been ogling at, during my weekly visits to my fathers office. The fact that my father, one of my lifes idols used it only made it shine as if it were a Rolex that had been passed down from one generation to another. It was a special pen i was told, and i needed to guard it with my life. I did for about 6 months, after which I lost it. I was devastated that day, removed form my mom and barely talking when i got home. I had been given a responsibility and u had failed at it. After about a week of not talking to anyone at home, i ran wailing into my moms open arms and told her the story. I got scolded a bit, but just the look on my moms face was enough for me.
What i however learnt from this experience has remained with me for the rest of my life. It was that no matter what, although my parents would scold me from time to time, nothing was more important than their child...and i love them for it.
Sent from my Nokia phone
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