In the darkest corner of the shelf, standing in a pen stand with a thick layer of dirt covering my body full of scars and dull greyish tint, remembering those good olden days when it was not all the same as it is right now…
I was manufactured in the Royale Swedish Pen Factory situated in the outskirts of the capital, Stockholm. As I jog down the memory lane, still I am nostalgic, It was a day when a compact piece carved out of steel block was burnt to provide me with my renown cylindrical shape , it was so surreal as I can witness my womb to birth process on an instant , in a few moments I entered to this kaleidoscope of world but as a new born baby, I was all bare and naked in my manufacturer’s hand, I was feeling so cold as I was nude and warm due to the furnace’s heat, I was so eagerly waiting for my drapes, I was eyeing all around for the tints and polish , my heart had a burning question that what I will be wearing soon, and then finally I was lifted up, I could not control my curiosity any longer, at that very moment, yes.. they dressed me up with bright red and attached me with my golden mouth – so edgy, sharp and naïve to reflect this cosmos on paper. As a human being tenacity, bound to take tests and verify, guess what… I too was testified with what do you call it A QUALITY CHECK, it was tiresome and so grim, I was exhausted proving myself constantly, many of my friends with whom I enjoyed my kitty party were separated and kept out of main lot of us, but I made my mind, I will hustle hard to get out of this factory to get a spice of market and materialism, the thought of someone tracing his fingers over me and letting me dance over the paper gave me chills of pleasure down the spine, perhaps I am ambitious, yes I say it with a proud and profound gratitude to my producers who gifted me with the standard of mine that being one of the best in the stationary arena of mine, the Swedish Parker is now ready to serve European markets.
My body was fresh and shiny, poured with German Ink inside, was packed and shipped to an Italian stationery. Months passed and I was tired of being in display, though I made some very good friends with whom I cried as we used to discuss our lives when we will be out and this heavy price tag, which was my sole cause of rejection will no longer hinder my freedom to access this unique world. And then, one evening a Romanian student studying philosophy bought me. For the first time I was so happy as I got my master and was full of curiosity shaking hands with my new life along with sadness of leaving my friends in the display, but as one philosopher said:
To win something, one has to lose something
My life started itself in the glittery box packed inside my master’s bag. I spent most of my time writing newspaper articles based on self- help and societal issues as along with studying in University, my master used to work for the Romanian Times as a columnist. I loved to dance on that smooth soft surface of my master’s diary pages releasing my silky black German Ink when he used to put his life changing articles for people and especially for kids. Yes! My Master loved kids, I have been with him all the time when he used to smilingly watch those children playing in the park, for hours and pointing down the problems they are facing in this modernized world. I even remembered the day when he was honored with an award titling “The Writer for Change” for his work for children and since then I he started calling me “Lucky Friend”.
Days passed and my Master achieved new heights with newer awards and more recognition in the society which was all witnessed by me. I was feeling blessed to have such a loving master like him and then the day arrived when I was replaced by a new friend of him finding me a place in the pen stand lying on the desk. At first, I felt bad that how can he replace the one helping him through all his dark past when he was struggling with the bitter liquid life was making him drink, when he was somehow making his both ends meet by sparing time from University studies, but then I realized about the truth that as he grew successful, through passing times I was too becoming dull. I was no longer Bright red with polished glossy surface filled with silky ink inside. My nib had become harsh, it was not that glossy golden shiny nib dancing silently on paper, and so do my branding which was also dull finding me a reserved place on a pen stand instead of my master’s front pocket. That new friend served him better with her more polished body and a smooth ink outlet always ready to serve. But I will always be his lucky friend as today too whenever he wants to edit an important article, this old Swedish Parker is provided with the privilege.
Now as days turned into months and months into years, my master being busy with his family, yes he’s a grown up married adult now possessing a wife and a two year old child, my place shifted to a peaceful lonely corner of the shelf where that naughty kid cannot reach. I am filled with dirt, possessing an abraded nib which no longer can be used for vigorous writing tasks but I am happy as still whenever my beloved master finds me in the shelf, he takes me out and stares me in a loving way remembering every memory we had made together in this journey of life.