Narottam Regmi

It all started with the gilded, gem of a pen. Its glittering clipper silently informed many a pen connoisseur that no less than the venerable Parker from the fabled pen-makers bedecked my pocket. And I for one proudly flaunted it, almost as if I moved around in a limo and relied on a Rolex. If any pen was mightier than the sword, it had to be this! Far be it for me to remain loyal to expensive brands, a well wisher had presented me with what was to become the most pri-zed possession for sometime, or to be precise, until my first day in office — the day I lost it.

Almost bereaved, I settled for a lesser denomination of the same brand so that I could still connect with the trademark arrow. Though it did not feed my ego, as did its predecessor, it was no less handy. But it was far more useful to the ubiquitous dude who borrowed it for “just a moment” never to return to its forgetful owner. Similar pen pirates were at work everywhere. They preyed on pen inside banks, government offices and embassies. Occasionally, pens disappeared from bags, from home and the least likely of places — the office.

Thinking that a conspicuous tag would enable friends and foes to shed their selective amnesia I next started labelling pens with my name in myriad shades and waited with bated breath for each disappeared one to wind its way back to me. But all the while, I kept losing them, one after another, brand after brand. I would keep a pen on the table, within my reach and it would be moments before I forgot and minutes after it was gone, eight out of ten times. Even refills didn’t survive the onslaught.

Then I opted the more cost-efficient Pilot pens. That was before I felt their pinch on the pocket. Hence, the slide downhill from Parker to pencil was precipitous, accelerated by each depleting item from the penholder. That meant coming to terms with obscure brands and, in fact, even no brands. Yet I seldom would have a pen to write with. I even mulled about lifting pens. Call it pusillanimous or what you will, but I couldn’t. There were other things at stake.

And pencils soon started getting on my nerves — they had to be frequently sharpened. And the sharpener itself was disappearing with equal ease. Worse it couldn’t substitute a pen. A far cry from a Parker but one befitting the rigours of the common man, the Starline ballpoint pen has now come to my rescue. The transition, however, didn’t occur without making me a bit wizened — and a lot wiser. I now could read the writing on the wall: we are a nation of pen lifters!