Autobiography of a Pen

I am a pen. No pen’s life is very long. But I am 50 years now. I am not a normal pen but a special pen which is very expensive in India. Every time my refill ends, my owner puts a new refill but he never threw me. I think my value was more than Indian Rs1000. My friends and I were at the same window shop in a mall and enjoyed very much. We were in the same box. I will first of all tell you my early life.

I was a pen of high quality. I was manufactured in Chicago in a factory. I was then exported to India.

So I come back now. I was in a box with my friends. A man was looking for a gift and he saw our box. He hurriedly came and the shopkeeper gave my friend to him. But then, the same man refused, put his hand deep in the box and brought me out. He finally bought me. I don’t know why he chose me but I really got one of the best owners.

He was a colonel and a professor at an engineering college. He showed me to everyone and was very happy with me. But a student stole me ans started harassing me. He made too many scratches on me and had broken my cap’s handle.

But then my owner saw me in that boy’s hand. He punished him to steal me and again, even though I was in a bad condition then, he kept me as precious as ever.

He then passed it on to his son Ankur. He’s a 6th class boy. He got a homework to write an autobiography of a pen. He got full marks and was appreciated by everyone. Perhaps he does not realize that I have written it myself.

It does not matter. We cannot talk your language but at least I can share my feelings and my journey of life with you.

I am old now but can still write. 50 years is a long life. A pen’s life is not easy. People throw them, play with them, etc. But I got good owners. Ankur is not careless and loves me alike his father. My life was very good and I hope it goes on.

I have more to say more to say but Ankur is coming now so I will see you all later. OK! Bye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!