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| The old timers |
For some reason deigned by powers above me *read teachers, parents, elders...*, handwriting improved only when one used Fountain Pens. Turning back the pages in my life I remember a younger me walking alongside Shobhanamma *my mother : Shobhana + amma*, who would dutifully pick the pens herself. Many a pen was bought in this process.I still remember some of the stationery shops and her arguments on how the pen should write smoothly and not like a needle! She would carefully take her time in the selection process i.e. colour, make, body, nib (iridium tipped) and test write it. Finally after all this careful selection I would be the proud owner of a new pen. I think I remember my first Ink Pen. A brown coloured one with a silver cap. Pretty good one it was until I dropped it and the nib just snapped. Of course, one did not have to worry. We never replaced a lucky pen. We always got a new nib for it. Replacing it yourself was quite a marvel for the young nine year old kids *I am sure even a 4 year old would have done it himself*.
One such prized possession for a long time was a fountain pen called Senator . This blue coloured pen was a wonderful thing to hold. Thin and slightly built, it completely changed the way I wrote. The moment I held it in my hand I knew, that I had to possess the best handwriting to be deemed worthy to write with that pen. I used it for quite a long time, perhaps four or five years until one day I misplaced it.
Many a equation was solved, many a poem was inked , many a exam written by moist ink laden fingers those days. Oh! how can one forget the times when we ran out of ink! and indeed many a friendship has been forged by sharing a few drops of ink.
The walk down memory lane also brings a smile as I remember my grandfather dutifully writing on his Hero Pen. In later days when he stopped writing, I ended up being the proud owner of that pen. I also remember my aunt having a lot of Hero Pens with her. How can I forget my dad coming to my rescue during the times I lost my fountain pen. Of course after all the scolding my mother would still buy me a new one. The picture of the elders in the house, dark rimmed glasses on, writing on a piece of paper with their fountain pens is something that most of us would have come across. Before I forget a special mention must be given to the Fountain Pen Inks. We had different brands like Chelpark , Camlin, Camel, Brill and we always picked the 'Royal Blue' ink.
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| Royal Blue |
In the course of time a lot of things change. That which was central to us becomes something on the periphery. My 'writing' has evolved to 'typing' and I really don't worry about my scrawly handwriting anymore, after all there are the fonts that manage it. I don't have to worry whether my teacher would yell at me for the pathetic handwriting either. All that I care about is my typing speed and over the past few years consistently I range around 90 WPM. *Quite the transformation right?*. Moving forward in life sans the Fountain Pen our twelve year association shall always bring a smile on my face :) *like anything else doesn't? :D *
Growing up happens in a heartbeat. One day you’re in diapers, the next day you’re gone. But the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul.
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| When it was 'Madras' |
