The first thing which I remember when I opened my eyes was 4 persons staring at me.3 of them were looking at me and then at the fourth person with dilating pupils while the fourth person was the oldest of the lot constantly examining me.
“Sir you are going to love this, it is perfect”.
He took me in his hands and started moving me in different directions on the paper. He scribbled his name which was
“George Safford Parker”.
“Excellent, Good Work boys”, he nodded with a smile.
I was a special,crafted gold I.M.Parker pen made on a special request by a Swiss lady Mileva Marić for her husband as their first anniversary gift.
I was presented to her by George Parker himself. By watching the treatment she received you could easily guess she was an important person.
She quickly placed me inside a red velvet cover box. The box was mesmerizing with royalty spilling from every side. I enjoyed lying inside the box.
It was boring down there after few days and I wanted to get out desperately, it was an amazing feeling ; even velvet starts hurting after a long time…
Anyways finally I felt some quakes and shakes and at last the box was opened. On the other side of the box were words inscribed “With love Albert”. The words matched my colour.
The person took me in his hands and raised it to everyone present in the party and then kissed the lady. He found me beautiful and everyone else agreed by raising their glasses in air.
In the coming days I was being used a lot. I went through a lot of scribbling. Albert had a good habit. He always started his day with the date on the top.
One fine day I don’t remember the day exactly but after continuously pouring ink through me for over 2 nights this person wrote these characters “E=mc2” and shouted in joy.
After this incident I didn’t saw Mileva for a long time.
Then one day I saw her outside the Zurich High Court. I was more than happy to see her after a long time.Albert and Mileva climbed the stairs.
I could easily feel the thumping of Albert’s heart. It was faster than normal, may be the reason were the staircases or the woman walking on those.
They entered a room and Albert signed against his name and handed over me to Mileva. She signed on the same against her name, her hands were trembling I could easily make that and later a drop from her eye through her cheeks fell on me to confirm this. I was wondering what happened and as they turned to the main page. It was written in bold letters
dated 14th Feb 1919.She held me hard towards her chest and cried and then handed me over to Albert.
“Agreement Of Divorce”
Nobody asked me where did I want to stay?
Anyways life moved on and it was 1931 when my master was hosting an Indian guest. He was about to return to India the same day and Albert took me out and wrote a letter dated 27th Sep,1931 to a man called M.K.Gandhi and handed it over to his guest and asked him to give it to him.
As he was suppose to go, Albert had a look on me and handed me over to the person and asked him to give it to Gandhi as a gift from him.
Two weeks later I was in India where the person handed the letter and me to a person whom he referred to as Bapu…He did the same and raised to show me to everyone present in that room and all of them tried moving me on paper. Among them one signature looked extremely beautiful was
After that I was not used much and soon after a long time a person came to meet Bapu. He touched his feet and showed the newspaper and asked him to sign it. It was dated 15th August 1947 and in big fonts was stated
“BIRTH OF INDIA’s FREEDOM”
Bapu signed on the paper with a message:
“Truth alone triumphs, be it whatever. Do the same Aggarwal. I believe in you and so does the whole country”.
Some days after I was again in a courtroom and a statement was being written with me; the lines were:
“After hearing all the eye witnesses I hereby declare that Nathuram Godse was found guilty and thus awarded death penalty for killing M.K.Gandhi on 30th January,1948.”
–Atma Charan Aggarwal.
–Atma Charan Aggarwal.
My new master then took me to his home and kept me in his drawer and never took me out again. Then One day I was handed over to a museum in Delhi. They wrote a long history about me and placed me in a glass shelf.
Many people came and went everyday but no one was allowed to touch me. I wanted to be taken and written. I was dry and I wanted to be filled up but I couldn’t because even though they call us mightier than the sword, neither can we stand on our own nor can we express what we feel. We can articulate what our owners feel or what they want but not about our own selves.
One night a light flashed on me.I remember they were two guys who took me out breaking the glass. They were thieves who took me out from the museum with other artefacts. Suddenly I was lying in between bottles with label “Single Malt Scotch”.
I was left there for the night and the next morning there were 4 persons staring at me.3 of them were looking at me and then at the fourth person with dilating pupils while the fourth person was the oldest of the lot constantly examining me. I remembered how life has come full circle for me.
I was left there for the night and the next morning there were 4 persons staring at me.3 of them were looking at me and then at the fourth person with dilating pupils while the fourth person was the oldest of the lot constantly examining me. I remembered how life has come full circle for me.
“Sir you are going to love this”, he took me in his hands and asked “Does this work” and scribbled on paper. With all my pressure I blocked d ink inside me and didn’t produce anything on the paper instead of repeated blows by the man.
And with a powerful blow I was lying on the floor after crashing to the wall...Remembering what times I have lived…What deeds I have done...It did hurt...It did hurt a lot…You see I was in hands of some interesting people who defined history and now I am a history…
[The above events are not to be considered as a fact, these are my personal interpretation what may have had with a pen during the time.It was my attempt to see some of the interesting events in history through the eyes of a pen.]
