I practiced writing with dads Wilson ink pen and got spanked.

I was hardly 8 yr old elementary school kid (in 1952) when I sneaked to get hold of my dads brand new Wilson fountain pen to try my skill in writing with an ink pen on a sheet of paper. The pen was hardly two or three day old and dad kept it away from the line of sight of my brother, Chandran a teenager in the high school. But he cared less about such tools of school, unlike me. I am a very curious kid and perhaps for that reason dad tucked the pen away from might reach and sight in a wooden cove below the ceiling. Until then I had known only to write with a slate pencil on a slate. In the fifties the writing slate available in the market was real thin slab of slate an even sided slab of slate rock mounted on a soft-wood frame. (Slate is a meta-sedimentary rock and very common in the AP state). A rectangular slice of say 8x 6 slab of slate with even surfaces is fitted to a softwooden frame of hardly one inch width and say a bit thicker than the slate. If you wish to see one of those school slates now, there is not even a museum in our country where such pieces are exhibited. I think we in our country some thing like the Smithsonian to exhibit the tools from yester centuries, is indeed essential. While writing, kids could hold the slate it securely between the forearm and lower chest while gripping the short right side frame with all the four fingers. The right hand is totally free and kids write on the slate by holding a soft slate pencil between thumb, index and mid fingers and holding the slate pencil against the writing surface. Heel of the hand also rested on the surface of slate while the fingers not only not touch the slate surface, but can be easily maneuvered to write alphabets or numerals or what have you. If the slate happened to fall off a kids grip, nearly certainly the frame and a piece of slate itself will break off. To get a replacement, one might wait till the next year when the school supplies make a reappearance by the school reopening. Now back to the Wilson anecdote. I was doing third class in the elementary school at Veeyannur, where my dad was the head teacher (HT). The responsibilities included every thing from stepping into a class without the scheduled teacher and engaging the class to going to Thuckalay to the education office to collect the salaries of the four or five teachers in the school once every month. The HT also was the link to the society and school. For annual reroofing many citizens around the school volunteered in cash and kind for the annual re-thatching of the school shed. It so happened that during one of those trips to Thuckalay to collect the salary of the colleagues and the part-time sweeper, dad also bought a fancy pen for himself. This fountain pen a Wilson- had golden clip to fasten with the chest pocket and had a length of about 3.0- 4.0 in length. The black barrel and the cap had transverse thin golden stripes of about 1.0 mm width, but did not go around the barrel fully. I saw dad writing with this pen some documents relating to the school in one evening when he came back from Thuckalay. My young mind could not but wait for the first opportunity to grab the fancy writing tool to try my skills in writing with a pen on a piece of paper. I was watching the routines of my dads use of his new toy - the Wilson fountain pen. Finally, I figured out the spot where dad kept his pen.

The other brother, the one between me and the eldest one, Chandran least bothered about the dads new pen. Finally the day came when I did the dreaded act of reaching for my dads Wilson pen, which was kept securely in a high standing thin but deep cove just below the ceiling. Though the height of the secure cove is well above five feet, an eight year old to reach the deep pocket is a herculean task. Yet, I managed to climb up at least half way up the rounded palmyra pillar, and finally reached the high standing cove to retrieve the pen. I won the challenging task and acquired the pen. It was an amazing fete for me, I was bubbling with awe and thrill, and wanted to try writing with the wonder tool. I chose the pen hunting time, when my mom was at the bathing pond. I was rather alone and then I had feeling that no one will catch me red handed in the act of writing with pen. So grabbed the pen and tiptoed to a safe corner to try my writing skills with pen on paper. Unfortunately I pressed hard the nib over the paper that the delicate nib turned upward under the pressure. Then sort of turned the pen 180 degrees around and pressed the nib in the opposite direction to make it look straight with the axis of the barrel. However, for my bad luck the nib did not align correctly. So it needed another forcing, and to my dismay one half of the split nib broke loose. I had an asymmetrical nib and the den refused to write. I nearly wept as immediately I knew well that dad will spank me for the mischief I inflicted to his beloved tool for writing. At dusk dad came back from his evening trip to meet his own cousins and friends at loose Samiyarmadam. I was kind of shattered as if the hell broke over me. Until dad finished his supper the tense evening was rather outwardly peaceful for me. He had only the routine questions to me and Chandrettan. But then I was kind of hastily getting ready to sleep, thinking dad would rather not spank me by pulling me out of the bed. I tucked under the cozy blanket and pretended to be sleeping. However, after supper dad was planning to write something with the new pen mostly to relish and enjoy his new writing toy. I could easily figure out from the foot steps and little noises he made that dad was getting ready to write something. In a minute or two of his settling with pen and paper, heard a shout or a roar like vikrama. By the second call I was up and running to mom to escape the out come of dads anger when he saw the broken nib. Instantly I was hanging down from one of his arms and with the other hand dad gave me Aclass spankings. I shouted initially but was calmed down by dads own words to stop crying loud at night. Finally, I went to bed crying and sobbing. Perhaps dad too slept with a mixed feeling. Lost the pen and some precious money too. thrivikramji@gmail.com

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