The magic of the fountain-pen

The “coming of age” moment is different in 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 passage-rite is not forgotten. The fountain-pen stayed 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 fountain-pen. Accidents were many. The white of 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 pen’s 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!

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 in 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 convert 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 favor, and with that fountain-pens have been relegated to the background. Even children have other pens- ball-pens and gel-pens but rarely a fountain-pen. We have reached a point when the hands tremble just to sign a bank-check. 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.

Paan-India delicacy

If there is one eatable that has a pan-India appeal, it is “paan”. The fascination for betel-leaf extends across the country- from Banaras to Belur, from Baroda to Bongaigaon! Like any indulgence, moderation is the key. But there is no doubt, that this betel-leaf preparation is India’s favorite delicacy. Every street-corner has its little paan-shop.

The paan-wala in the Northern parts of India, has a regal presence. A ball of fragrance hangs around him. His compact shop is packed with varieties of betel-leaves, dozens of silver containers and copper pots. Wiping his hands off his red rag-cloth, he is truly an artist, as he gets to work. His canvas is the green betel-leaf. He coats it with a calcium paste in white, adds a liquid in brown, and then, mixes the colors to a light pastel shade. His nimble fingers now get into action- a dash of power from one container, a sprinkle of coconut filings from another and a shake from another dispenser. He tops it with a spoonful of rose-petal paste, a pod of cardamom, folds the betel-leaf in a triangle and hands it out in style. For special customers, he has an ice-box filled with customized, frozen paan- the betel-leaf embossed with a silver-foil and with a cherry-top toothpick to hold the betel-leaf together. Who can resist this indulgence?

The South Indian betel leaf is slightly different- It is smaller, greener and spicier in taste. There are not as many paan-shops in South India, but the fixation for the delicacy is no less. In earlier times, bus journeys were a great opportunity to observe a betel-leaf aficionado, who sat beside and indulged in his pet pastime. Much like the cellphone is an integral part of a person’s make-up today, in earlier times, it was the compact, silver, betel-nut case. Open the case, and it was stacked with sheaves of betel-leaves. The indulgent carefully pulled out a couple of leaves, shook off the water droplets and peeled off the tiny leaf-stalk. His fingers dug out some slaked-lime paste from a side-compartment. He finger-painted the betel-leaf and topped it with a sprinkling of fragrant betel-nut flakes. He meticulously rolled it up in a bun, and even as we watched curiously, popped it into the mouth. With the betel-leaf tucked in a ball to one side of his cheek, he was a changed personality! The irritation that accompanied the long, arduous bus journey was gone. His face exuded an indescribable calm and happiness- he was at peace with himself and with the world at large!

Betel leaves have a prominent presence in South Indian weddings. They are given prime-place in the wedding-hall with a table specially reserved for this. The betel-leaves are arranged on a silver-tray with the satellite accompaniments- packets of aromatic betel-nut crushed powder, areca-nut sliced flakes and a bowlful of sugar-crystal. By mid-day, the hoopla of the wedding celebration comes to a close and the hall empties out. The blazing sun outside, the coolness of the hall, the satiation following a full wedding-meal, all combine to keep the last few guests still lingering in the hall. They laze around in the hall to catch a quick, afternoon siesta and then reach out for the betel-leaves. As they work on the betel-leaves in the mouth, in a sort of reverie, it is best to avoid conversation. Betel-leaves and conversation do not go together. Much as we would like to know if they need a ride back home or a cup of coffee, we get no proper answers. The lips are stained a bright red and the juices threaten to overflow the sides of the mouth. All they can do is nod, mumble and gurgle incoherently. We leave them to complete their rumination!

The names are many- “beeda”, “maghai”, “banarasi”, “vethalai-paakku”, but the relish is much the same. The indulgence in betel-leaf is truly a connoisseur’s pursuit- where sight, smell, taste and after-taste all intermingle to make it such a delightful experience. It is iconized in film and song. Who can forget Amitabh Bachchan’s feet-tapping song in the 1970s- “khaike paan banaras wala”?

Why do we follow Cricket?

My earliest memory of Cricket goes back to the 3 Test Series that India played in Pakistan in 1978. It was an iconic series, perhaps the first time, we had live telecast of the matches on TV. I was too young to understand the nuances of the game. But the black and white images of Gavaskar and Kapil Dev, Zaheer Abbas and Imran Khan have not faded one bit. What began with this series, is a love-affair with Cricket that continues to this day.

Cricket folklore passed on from generation to generation ensures that even heroes of a distant past, rub shoulders with the stars of today. That way, Cricket memory has no beginning. Through the tales told and retold by my grandfather and father, both cricket freaks, the embers of Cricket of an earlier era, continue to burn bright. Mankad and Merchant, Pataudi and Chandra may have left the Cricket arena well before my time, but it was as though, I saw them bat and bowl right in front of my eyes!

For a Cricket enthusiast, it is not just a game. We play out our life, against the backdrop of Cricket. Each of life’s flag-post events is matched up with a corresponding event in Cricket and vice versa. When my daughter was born, I was as much excited about her arrival, as about Sehwag getting to his triple hundred! And when it comes to Cricket’s crowning moments, we know exactly where we were, and what we were doing on that day. Dhoni and team may have won the World Cup, but we held the trophy in our hands standing in the apartment balcony!

We are often asked why we follow Cricket so closely. We may have played the game in childhood and derived some fun out of it. We do not actively play anymore. What is the point in following the sport so closely, investing so much time and mind-share? A Cricket nut struggles to answer. He can only mumble incoherently- it is like love, it has no logic. There is a sense of inevitability to it.

Why do we follow Cricket? It is for the sheer excitement of looking forward to something. We know after the IPL is over, India will spend the summer in England, followed by the T-20 World-Cup. The carpet is already laid out for the entire year. The thrill is in the wait, in the anticipation for the next cricket event to unfold and then the next, ad infinitum. Without this, life will be too drab, robbed of all fizz.

In following Cricket, we ride a roller-coaster of emotion. When India was all out for 36, it was a personal embarrassment. We sulked in silence; we could not show our face outside. Family members consoled us, “Why are you moving around with such a long face, as if some grave calamity has befallen you? Look! Even the Cricketers have forgotten about it!” And then, when India won the next test, the happiness couldn’t be contained. There was a new spring in the steps, cheer on the face and even this Corona ridden world, seemed the happiest place in the universe! Such is Cricket!

Keeping in touch with Cricket, we stay young. The body may age, but not the child in us. Spotting a red tomato in the kitchen, even now, we grip it, as we would a Cricket ball, and give it a few turns like Kumble. In the process, the tomato may slip out of hand and lay squashed on the floor, leaving us red-faced, but that’s another story. Or walking down a corridor in the apartment, the body suddenly breaks into a bowling action, forgetting even the curious onlookers around us.

The IPL Cricket extravaganza has just begun. I sit in front of the TV much like that school boy did decades ago. I wait with bated breath as the toss ritual gets underway. The first ball is about to be bowled. The bowler is at the top of his bowling mark. The umpire ends the suspense, drops his extended arm and announces, “Gentlemen! Let’s play!”

Identity Crisis!

We face this identity crisis often. The situations vary- may be, you need a new passport or a new bank account or renew the Driver’s License. You carefully go through the list of identity-proofs. The options are many- Voter’s Id, Aadhaar card, PAN card and Driver’s License. Most lists require 2 photocopies of each document (both front and back) and 2 recent passport-size photographs.

You rummage through the cupboard looking for these proofs. Call it Murphey’s Law, each time you spot the back of an Aadhaar card, you expectantly turn it over, but the photograph shows a different family member! You wonder whether you left the original the last time you went to the bank several months ago, or maybe at the airport. After a feverish search during which you have emptied out the shelves from all the cupboards and the entire room is littered with documents, you finally find your clutch of identity-proofs.

But the battle has just begun. Two photocopies are required for each document. It does not matter how many times you have photocopied these documents in the past and stashed them away for safekeeping. When you need them, there are none. You decide to end the futile search and get a fresh set of photocopies. And yes, this time, you plan to get 10 copies of the same document (both front and back) so that these repeated trips can be avoided. As far as passport photographs are concerned, less said, the better. None of them are ever recent. They belong to an earlier avatar when you had a moustache, floppy hair hanging over the ears and a silly grin. Those are the only ones you can find. The most recent photograph is a single copy that cannot be paired with the moustache one. There is no choice. It requires a trip to the photo-studio and this time, you swear to take more photographs than you will ever need in life.

It is now the moment of reckoning. You are at the counter with all the identity-proofs and their respective photocopies neatly stored in a plastic pouch. Till then, you were just fine and relaxed. Call it nerves or a sudden attack of panic, you fumble to find the correct document just when you are asked for it. The man at the counter has no time for the likes of you. Behind you, the line snakes till the door and beyond. It is as if, he has placed a revolver on your forehead and in flat 30 seconds, you need to fish out all the documents and their respective photocopies or tough luck, you just have to make way for the next person! Somehow, you manage to submit the documents. In a trice, he returns two out of the three documents as invalid. In one, he has spotted an anomaly in the spelling. The surname has an extra “A” that is not matching with the other two. As far as the second document is concerned, the home-address is not the current one. With an air of irritation, he dismisses you off- you need to get a Rental Agreement as address-proof or a recent Electricity Bill with your name on it. He does not like your passport photograph either, since it is not against a white background. You cannot argue or furnish an alternative document from the pouch. Your time is up and you have been elbowed out of the line by the person behind you.

There has to be way out of this crisis. We require an out-of-the-box thinking- perhaps, a garland that can be worn. Strung to the garland will be all the documents- a passport hanging off it, a driver’s license, a PAN card and their respective photocopies. It will make it easier for everyone. Like the security check at the airport, you simply lift your arms and submit yourself at the counter. The person can go around you and pluck whichever document he needs and their respective photocopies. It is also time we re-evaluated the basic necessities in life. Along with food, clothing and shelter, we need to add the 4th basic necessity in every home- a photo-copying machine!