ADVENTURES OF A HYDERABADI FOUNTAIN PEN ADDICT

This is the original version of my article published in the February 2007 issue of 'Wings & Aisles', the inflight magazine of 'Paramount Airways'.


ADVENTURES WITH MY FOUNTAIN PEN

As I see it, the world is basically divided into two kinds of people: those who write with fountain pens and those who don’t. Those who write with fountain pens are a rare species altogether. I happen to be one such specimen. I am happiest with a fountain pen in my pocket. Without it, I feel like a soldier without his sword. I never step out of the house without a fountain pen in my shirt pocket. This passion for fountain pens unexpectedly got me my first job. Thanks to it, I also had my first ride in a Mercedes Benz car with a most beautiful girl recently.

My affair with fountain pens began in school at a time when the ballpoint pen had not yet appeared in the market. All my pocket money went into buying fountain pens. While my friends spent theirs on toys, I bought fountain pens. To this day, I cannot pass a stationer’s without darting in to buy a fountain pen. When I’m out shopping with friends, they make sure there aren’t any stationery stores nearby because they know once I start checking out the fountain pens they have to literally drag me out from there.

My fountain pen got me my first job as a copywriter in an advertising agency. I was hired practically on the spot by my boss who turned out to be another major fountain pen freak. He couldn’t stop staring at the fountain pen in my shirt pocket and even before the interview began I knew I had the job.

My friend who is nuts about wrist-watches told me fountain pens would get me nowhere with girls. A flashy Rolex or a Cartier was an instant chick magnet, he told me. His theory went for a six when one day at the bank I met the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life. All because I happened to have a fountain pen with me.

I was at this swank bank one day, sitting on a sofa and day dreaming as usual, when I heard someone address me. I looked up and saw this incredibly beautiful girl standing before me. It was the girl I had seen arrive in a red Mercedes Benz while I was parking my bike.

Up close, she was so breathtakingly beautiful; my private list of Top Ten beautiful girls got instantly reshuffled to put her on top at the Number One slot way up above Jessica Simpson, Scarlet Johansson, Salma Hayek, Priety Zinta, Katrina Kaif and other beauties I dream about. I am sure if she were to appear for the Miss World and Miss Universe contests, she would have effortlessly won them both together without even wearing make up. She was that beautiful. And she was asking me something.

“Can I have your pen for a moment, please?” Miss World & Universe asked me flashing the first of a series of million watt smiles that she’d give me for the next couple of hours.

“ Pen! I’d give you my watch, my car, my flat and anything else you ask” is what I wanted to say but nothing came out of my mouth. I meekly took out my custom made deep blue fountain pen and gave it to her instead of saying “NO” which is what I tell anyone who asks for it. People are always asking me for my pen in places like banks and post offices. Sometimes I seriously think the Government should come out with an Ordinance or a Parliamentary Act expressly prohibiting people from entering banks and post offices without a pen.

Moments after I gave her my fountain pen, I realized I had simultaneously broken, not one, but two cardinal rules of handling fountain pens.

Rule No.1: Never Lend Your Fountain Pen.

Rule No.2: If You Are Stupid Enough To Lend It, At Least Retain The Cap.

I had not only given her my most prized possession, I had also forgotten to keep the cap. Now I would never be able to complete my books that I was writing with that pen. It isn’t that I refuse anything to beautiful girls but my fountain pen is altogether a different thing.

By the time I came to my senses, she had disappeared! I went frantically searching for her and found her in the manager’s cabin signing away papers with my fountain pen. She signed so many papers that I wondered if she was taking a loan or buying the bank itself. I finished my work in the bank while she was signing away and when I returned, she was coming out of the manager’s cabin.

“My pen, please.” I managed to croak while struggling to stand still. Her beauty was beginning to affect me. I was trembling at the knees.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I dropped it and broke the nib.” She said apologetically. This wasn’t new because somehow, things are always breaking with me. When I borrow something from others, I break them and when I lend my things to others, they get broken.

Just as I was about to burst into tears at that terrible news, she insisted that we go to a pen store to get a new nib. I told her it wasn’t really necessary. Then, when she told me her dad taught her to return anything she borrowed in good shape, I tended to agree with her dad and his sage advice.

But I was still refusing her offer shaking my head when there appeared before me a six feet tall gorilla in a chauffeur’s uniform. I started to protest again but the chauffeur gave me the sort of look that told me he’d happily tie my lower lip to the rear fender of the Mercedes Benz and drag me all the way to the pen store if I did not shut up at once.

In Hyderabad, one rarely refuses anything to a beautiful girl with a Mercedes Benz especially when it is driven by someone with a build that takes up half the front seat. So like a true Hyderabadi I gave in and shuffled towards the car. Before I knew it, I was seated beside her in the Mercedes Benz with the gorilla at the wheel.

I had never been inside a Merc so I had no idea what to talk when inside such expensive cars. It was a new experience to me, traveling in a swank car with a beautiful girl. Once inside, she tilted her lovely head around and gave me such a dazzling smile that all my blood turned into ink because all I wanted to do was write long, long letters to her promising my eternal love.

What would it take for her to be impressed with me, I wondered while the car sailed through the traffic. I might try being witty, I thought. I had read somewhere that women are attracted to guys with a sense of humour. So I sat trying hard to think up something truly funny that would make her laugh.

“ What do you do?’ she asked flashing yet another million watt smile that made me wonder if anyone has thought of inventing portable lightning conductors. Another smile like that and I’d probably vaporize on the spot.

“I’m a trained Mercedes Benz chauffeur.” I wanted to tell her and also add “in my spare time I’m a test pilot for Boeing.”

Instead, I managed to mumble, “ I’m in advertising. I write copy.” I expected her to be excited at the thought of sitting inches away someone who writes clever lines for ads. The chauffeur glanced at me in the mirror with such a look I feared he would stop the car right then in the middle of the road and hurl me out of the window.

She said, “Oh, really” and looked away. I was pretty desperate to make an impression on her. At the speed at which we were going, we would be together in the car only for another couple of minutes before arriving at the pen store. I wanted to say something funny or something profound soon. But by the time I had thought of something like that we arrived at the pen store.

I had secretly hoped someone would see me in the Merc with this absolutely stunning girl. I sent up another prayer to God, my forty-ninth since the moment she shimmered into my life at the bank. My prayer seemed to be miraculously answered because the moment we stepped out of the car there stood before me my friend, Mr. Watch Freak himself, he of the sixteen-watch collection and author of the theory of Instant Chick Magnets. I ignored him and stepped into the pen store with the girl by my side and feeling on top of the world. I’m sure if I had turned around, I would have seen him rolling on the ground and pounding his fists on the pavement.

Miss World & Universe paid for the nib in the pen store. I looked around morosely, feeling bad about it. Looking at all those lovely pens in the display I was struck with an idea for reciprocating her gesture and also make a lasting impression on her. I smiled, at last I had thought of something very clever.

After my pen arrived with a new nib she handed it back to me. I took it as if I was accepting the Nobel Prize from Royalty. She gave another smile that made me weak at the knees again but somehow I managed to utter a feeble ‘thanks’.

She was getting into the car. Now! Now! My mind implored. I took out a small box and gave it to her saying, "Excuse me, this is for you.”

She turned around and, mercifully, accepted the box and opened it. She gasped at the brilliant red fountain pen inside and gave me a look that told me she was sufficiently impressed.

“Matches your car.” I said, finally delivering a bon mot.

‘Thank you so much, I love it” she said and drove away giving me a devastating smile that would light up the rest of my life.