The “coming of age” moment is different for each generation. For many of us, the moment was in school, when we transitioned from the pencil to the fountain pen. It was in sixth grade, but the excitement of the rite of passage is not forgotten. The fountain pen stayed as an inseparable companion from then on, right through college and the years at work.
Fountain pens were messy, especially for a sixth grader. The pens leaked and the finger tips had a perpetual blue stain. Any excess ink on the fingers readily went to the hair and served as a natural conditioner! Filling ink into these pens required the precision of a chemist. The ink filler either went missing or lost its natural suction. It meant tilting the ink bottle in full and filling the pen. Accidents were many. The floor lay splattered in blue ink and had to be cleaned up in a tearing hurry, before other questioning eyes could witness the crime scene. Despite all the care, sometimes, pens fell off the table. One fall was enough to cripple the nib and it could rarely be salvaged from then on. Still, we loved the fountain pen. For exams, multiple pens were kept in perfect shape, like an archer with a quiver full of sharp arrows.
A fountain pen did not work as intended, the moment you bought it. It had to be tamed and domesticated as one would train a pet dog. In the beginning, the pen had a mind of its own. It was rough, scratchy and with no smooth flow. It had to be coaxed and cajoled and as we wrote more, it fell in line with the writing style. Some pens were stubborn and refused to be reined in. It required strong-arm tactics like polishing the nib on a piece of coarse sandpaper. In due course of time, it was no longer a pen, but an extended arm. As we dotted the ‘i’s and crossed the ‘t’s through reams of paper, it was artwork all the way!
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In those days, fountain pens made a suave style statement. There was an air of sophistication associated with the pen. It was clipped to the shirt pocket so that only the golden glint of the cap holder was visible. Just the manner someone pulled out the fountain pen, wrote a few lines in an elegant calligraphic hand, and placed it back in the pocket, made an instant impact. We were filled with awe and went weak in the knees, as if in the presence of Shelley, Byron and Tennyson, all rolled into one!
Fountain pens and diaries went together. Many an aspiring poet or budding writer, in the first flush of youth, maintained a diary where their imaginative minds found poetic expression. Recently, I chanced upon an old diary of mine from college days. Eagerly, I flipped through the pages to perchance stumble upon some long forgotten secret. I had no such luck. There was one page with a single entry that read “gulab jamun two rupees, fifty paise”. It was written in running hand, in a breezy style, and with a flow indicative of a good fountain pen. I could not help but admire the piece of calligraphy, and of course, the thought-provoking content. The fountain pen does that magic. It has the ability to raise the mundane and the ridiculous to the sublime!
We do not know when the fountain pen went out of fashion. In some ways, it was a definite victim of the IT revolution. Now, people write less and type more on their computers and laptops. Writing has fallen out of favour, and with that fountain pens have been relegated to the background. Children have ball pens and gel pens but rarely a fountain-pen. We have reached a point when the hands tremble just to sign a cheque. So woefully out of touch we are with writing. Fountain pens are on the verge of extinction and will find their rightful place in the glass cases of future museums. We will take our selfies with fountain pens, much as we do with vintage cars, as relics belonging to an earlier age.
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