Autobiography of a pen

Autobiography of a pen

        I am a fountain pen, I was manufactured in England before the world became crazy for ball-pens. When I emerged from the factory. I looked very lovely with my brown color and a platinum-tipped nib. I was placed in a fancy case as a presentation article. I formed part of a large consignment that was shipped to Hongkong.

        I was bought from a Hongkong shop by an Indian tourist who brought me to Mumbai. My master, a leading lawyer, used me with great care. I was the object of envy for most of the junior lawyers and clerks in the office. It was with my help that my master wrote so many plants and I was used to putting his signature on so many important legal documents. For ten long years, I served my master, without even once giving him any trouble or cause for complaint. Then one day. a rich client, whose case my master had won with my help, presented him with a silver pen. From that day onwards my master's love for and interest in me started loving the new silver pen more than me. He no longer remained so fond of me as he earlier. I was deeply hurt by his ungratefulness but could do nothing about it. And one day he handed me over to his son. From the courtroom. I was sent to the classroom. for my new master was a student in the ninth standard. And how roughly he used me! Within a month my platinum-tipped nib was broken and it was replaced by an ordinary cheap metal nib. Days of my glory were over.

        When my nib broke for the second time, my young master exchanged me with a catapult, My new master threw me carelessly in a corner of his room from where I was picked up by his servant. They got me repaired and took me home. He has carefully kept me to this day but I am not happy.  The fellow is illiterate and doesn't know how to read or write and what is the use of a pen that is not used for writing? I am fed up with this inactivity. What is the fun of being only a showpiece? I wish to be fulfilled? I don't know