(It’s just okay to skip the next paragraph, but if you would like to know the provocation behind this piece, do read it.)
[Last week I fell in love with a pen(!). It does not belong to me. It was a property that had been lying neglected for quite some time in the Lost & Found box of the school. Two weeks back when I was direly in need of a black ball point pen, I discovered it. The beginning of a new relationship. After a fortnight of silly signing tasks I filched fetched it home today for a short stay (?).]
The experience of writing with a pen after a long time swept me off my feet. It took me back to the college days where we struggled to catch up to the high-speed dictation of notes by the lecturers/professors. Ah, it was fun. (Have the Reynold pens become extinct?!)
Nowadays I usually use pens just for dashing off something brief, and for doodling during the ho-hum sessions of a meeting. Penning a serious, lengthy piece is entirely different. Initially it may seem unexciting. We may get annoyed when it comes to editing the draft. However after a page or two we will find it hard to jot down all the words that emerge from the deluge of ideas. Then we whine: My hands are too slow!
OMG! What have I made of my fingers? They are becoming NUMB. They can no longer perform the fine tasks like holding a slender pen, a tiny needle, or a delicate petal! THEY ARE GOOD FOR NOTHING BUT CLICKING! Can this be written off as something rife in this era? In the process of evolution let human fingers not get reduced to ugly, stiff stubs – that’s my prayer.