Last January, I treated myself to a Parker pen—a Parker Jotter gold trim fountain pen, personalised with laser engraving. This pen had been on my bucket list for a year. It was expensive, and I debated whether to buy it or not. I love writing, and I love fountain pens. There is something about fountain pens – something magical. After an intense tug-of-war between “to buy or not to buy”, the obvious finally won. I believed I deserved it. So why not?
On the first week of January, it arrived in a beautiful white paper gift bag with gold lettering proudly announcing the name of the world-famous brand. I was over the moon. Carefully deposited inside an elegant box was my pen, with my name engraved on the clip in cursive. The pen was simple, with a sleek chrome body and a gold-trimmed clip. Nothing flashy or ostentatious. But elegant and graceful. Solid and nimble. The nib was straight, somewhere between a traditional and a modern design, and I simply fell in love with it. Actually, I selected that particular model because of that nib.
Over the days, this luxurious and elegant piece of writing instrument became the tactile and mental stimulation that made me want to write more. This pen was not just a pen for me. It became my companion. Writing my thoughts in my journal with its washable blue fluidity, I was so conscious about every line, every curve, and every dot I jotted down that I almost remembered everything I wrote. I relished its company. It was an instrument that stoked my energy and enthusiasm to keep writing. It was never a showpiece for me. I am not that kind, and a Parker is much more than that.
I gradually fell out of the habit of writing with regular ballpoint pens, so I had my pen always with me wherever I went.
Last week while I was working at the clinic, this hilarious yet shocking and thought-provoking incident happened. I was busy writing a treatment plan. A few minutes into it, in the periphery of my visual field, I felt the gaze of the doctor sitting next to me. She is a senior, but I was never close with her during my student days. But now we work together and have a good coalition during work. I turned my head without stopping my writing and saw her gaze directed at my writing. It didn’t take me long to realise she was squinting at my pen. Automatically, I stopped writing and followed her gaze, and it stopped at the nib of the pen. Is there anything wrong? The straight chrome nib, engraved with the brand name and three chevrons with an etched square where a breather hole would typically be shone. The details were not visible, though. I knew them because I knew this pen like the back of my hand. Then, all of a sudden, in a mocking and very sarcastic tone, she blurted out, “Aiyo…you people are still writing with this kind of pens, no?”
I froze for a moment. I bit my lip and kept on looking at the nib for a few seconds. Then I looked back at her and, with an ear-to-ear smile, said, “Yes, ane”. And she looked at me as if I was a cavewoman engraving a stick figure of a bison using a piece of stone. I kept on smiling without uttering a single word. She tilted her head which was both a mocking gesture and derision. She clearly wanted me to feel embarrassed. I maintained my smile like the Cheshire cat. It was a different level of joy for me.
Above every little detail of this pen, she only saw the nib. And she judged. The classical old-fashioned fountain pen nib might have directed her thoughts towards vintage museum collections, pens used by grandfathers and ancient people, dipping in ink pots, and also the old Hero fountain pens we used as school kids. I have one of those too, which I love. I don’t know whether she knows what a Parker is. Even if I told her, she might not know the difference between a Parker and an ordinary plastic ballpoint pen. I didn’t explain for a plethora of reasons. But there is a difference. That is the same reason the world goes to such lengths to find a natural diamond over a cut and polished piece of glass or even an artificial diamond. All of them glint alike subjected to the right cut. Until they are cut, a diamond may look like a rock of alum or a lump of salt. But even when cut, it is hard to tell unless you are a specialist. The right people know the difference and the significance of that difference.
This incident reminded me of a line from Tolkien’s The Hobbit – “Everything that is gold does not glitter.”
Leave aside the pen and the gem. What I realised is that, among us, there are Parkers and Diamonds, too, but only few will identify them. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all.
Because ignorance never reduced anything’s quality and true value.