Essay : [Autobiography Of An Old Fountain Pen]
English Essay on "Autobiography Of An Old Fountain Pen"Autobiography Of An Old Fountain Pen
I am a 'waterman' fountain pen. I was manufactured more than half a century ago. On opening me up, you will find that I have no rubber tube or any other filling device inside me. One has to remove my nozzle altogether to fill me up with ink.
I can hold enough ink for many weeks incessant writing. Yes, I am much fatter and longer than my descendants, the modern, fountain pens. It is so because the people in those early years of this century were more concerned about utility than about delicacy.
A few days after I had arrived in Singapore from England, a Chinese youth celebrated his 21st birthday. His father, who was very fond of his promising son, bought me as a present for the occasion.
After a few months, my young master left for my native land. He stayed there for a number of years and passed many examinations. He was a hard-working chap and was exceptionally successful at anything he set himself to do. But a part of his success he definitely owed to my willingness to work for him. t don't remember even one occasion When he had to stop to fill me during an examination. In those days people wrote with horrible steel pens. Bright candidates lost many a precious minute of their examination time in that 'dip-and write' game.
When my master returned from abroad, i was still by his side. We were good friends now, and my master felt there to be something missing whenever we happened to be apart.
But like all precious friendships, ours came to sudden and sad end. One-day master returned home late after a long walk. On the way back he stopped at a shop and buys a packet of cigarettes as he pulled out his heavily stuffed purse.(4essay.blogspot.com) I dropped into a fast flowing drain beside the shop. My master was not at all aware of the loss when he reached home. Next morning when he found me missing, an extensive search was made but all his efforts to recover were in vain.
In due course of time, some laborers came along to clear the drain of the silt that had almost choked it. One of them happened to see me as he was loading the silt into a handcart. He washed me and put me into his pocket. One day, when he was off duty, he took me to a pen-repairer cleaned me all over and sold me, at considerable profit to a clerk. Being out of pocket, one day, the clerk pawned me for a few rupees, but he never returned to claim me back. Since then I have been an occasional visitor to various Pawnshops in the country.
My last master pawned me quite a long while ago. It is evident that he will not turn up to claim me. I am once more for sale, but nobody is willing to buy me. Maybe, I shall have stayed here indefinitely.
I can hold enough ink for many weeks incessant writing. Yes, I am much fatter and longer than my descendants, the modern, fountain pens. It is so because the people in those early years of this century were more concerned about utility than about delicacy.
A few days after I had arrived in Singapore from England, a Chinese youth celebrated his 21st birthday. His father, who was very fond of his promising son, bought me as a present for the occasion.
After a few months, my young master left for my native land. He stayed there for a number of years and passed many examinations. He was a hard-working chap and was exceptionally successful at anything he set himself to do. But a part of his success he definitely owed to my willingness to work for him. t don't remember even one occasion When he had to stop to fill me during an examination. In those days people wrote with horrible steel pens. Bright candidates lost many a precious minute of their examination time in that 'dip-and write' game.
When my master returned from abroad, i was still by his side. We were good friends now, and my master felt there to be something missing whenever we happened to be apart.
But like all precious friendships, ours came to sudden and sad end. One-day master returned home late after a long walk. On the way back he stopped at a shop and buys a packet of cigarettes as he pulled out his heavily stuffed purse.(4essay.blogspot.com) I dropped into a fast flowing drain beside the shop. My master was not at all aware of the loss when he reached home. Next morning when he found me missing, an extensive search was made but all his efforts to recover were in vain.
In due course of time, some laborers came along to clear the drain of the silt that had almost choked it. One of them happened to see me as he was loading the silt into a handcart. He washed me and put me into his pocket. One day, when he was off duty, he took me to a pen-repairer cleaned me all over and sold me, at considerable profit to a clerk. Being out of pocket, one day, the clerk pawned me for a few rupees, but he never returned to claim me back. Since then I have been an occasional visitor to various Pawnshops in the country.
My last master pawned me quite a long while ago. It is evident that he will not turn up to claim me. I am once more for sale, but nobody is willing to buy me. Maybe, I shall have stayed here indefinitely.
it was good thanks
ReplyDeletegood
ReplyDelete