The year was 1948. I was just a tiny tot. My father gifted me a ball-point pen from Singapore. In India, the ball pen was rare. School children were allowed to write only using pencils. Scribbling with a fountain pen was a bonanza for a schoolboy.
With the “inkless pen” in hand, I barged into my classroom with pomp and pride. The best feature of the pen was that it did away with the cumbersome process of refilling it with ink. I was stunned on noticing the reaction among my schoolmates. “Amazing!” exclaimed one of my pals. This was soon followed by a flood of submissions for a trial of the “inkless pen”, a prodigious object in their eyes. Affixing a signature with this innovating writing material captivated their imagination. The virtues of this “inkless pen” spread like forest fire in the school and boys trooped in to have a look at the pen.
Then a brain wave struck me. Soon I launched a barter system which yielded rich dividends. I had never tasted any junk food as my mother had forbidden it. Requests for using the pen were conceded on the spot in return for a variety of eatables. I filled my stomach with popcorn, popsicle and nuts. I was overjoyed and my spirits shined through my body.
On returning home, I developed an effervescent enthusiasm to clear all my homework arrears. I wrote and wrote endlessly. While it was all smooth sailing, all of a sudden my prized possession was stuck, disobeying my command to write. Every effort to resuscitate it proved futile. Drunk with hope I contacted Spencer’s. They were the ones who identified it enlightening me with the term “ball-point pen”.
I never realised about the “refill”. I was a distilled idiot, I presumed a ball pen would never go dry. Once a precious possession, the pen was now just junk. Tons of tears trickled down my cheeks when I threw it to the dust bin. Rubbing salt to my wound, my mother lashed me with her words 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 dusk! What a wretched life? It was all totally disgusting and detestable.
On introspection, a glorious message flashed across my mind. Is it joy or sorrow? Both are ephemeral. Emerson was right when he said, “God is playing fool on us.” Everything is impermanent. Then “Which is permanent?” Answering this nagging question the renowned philosopher Dr J Krishnamurthy brilliantly answered “Nothing is permanent. ‘Search for permanency’ alone is permanent.”
T R Thiagarajan
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