After our long summer hibernation we would meet each other at the school, amazed to find how everyone was a bit taller or bulkier than before. The September of year 2006 marked a milestone in our journey as we upgraded from lead pencils to Fountain Pens. The change was welcomed with mingled feelings of joy and uncertainty. We were happy to get our hands on all those fancy pens lying in the showcase of the stationary shop and far more delighted to replace those rubber erasers with complementary essentials to ink pen- the famous "ink removers". However, our handwriting went through various transformations until we ended up with the one which are teachers really didn't like.
I remember getting parker pen from my father which I lost trillions time and found it in the most unexpected places. I still have it but don't really use it, since now we have upgraded to ball points.
The ordinary ink left marks behind, literally and figuratively. It was common to find our fingers tinted blue with ink after handing in our assignments. Sometimes we would find a half drained ink pot in someone's bag and her notebooks would come out all drenched in blue ink dripping from its sides. Once a whole ink pot was spilled on this poor girl's uniform and we fought hard to contain our laughter.
One of the funniest ink related incident (yeah there were many) happened back in my sixth grade. At that time I was unlucky to be elected as the class prefect with a bunch of wicked boys to look over. There was this group of four boys who were good for nothing really. They used to pay frequent visits to the head mistress office and our teachers used to remember them in golden words-The Troublemakers. The school was preparing for its first science fair and we used to spend half of the day outside helping the teachers complete the projects. The four troublemakers were not assigned any task except to sit in the class silently. The four were glad to be left all alone and I was well aware of the fact that the happier they get the more mischievous they become. So I started patrolling the corridor to avoid any disaster, frequently paying visits to the class.
One afternoon, I noticed something strange- pin drop silence in the corridor. Naturally curious I made my way to the class. The door was closed and there I smelled a rat. I gingerly opened the door to find my class brutally spattered with indigo splashes. I was rooted to the spot as I saw our tables, walls, soft boards, floor even bags covered in blue ink.
I ran to my teacher at the lightning speed of the road runner and gave her the breaking news putting our media to shame or you can put it the way the four troublemakers prefer 'Shakaiti Tatto in Action'! Horrified looks with persistent 'oohs' and 'aahs' were the reactions of my audience. Some girls were at the verge of tears when they saw the condition of their beloved Barbie bags.
Next morning a rare punishment was issued for their rare offense. Our sweepers came in with their mops, handing one to each of the boys. Hot under the collar, they started scrubbing the ink off. My other class mates facilitated them by pointing at the ink spots in the most unreachable places and poor boys had to climb the tables to access them. Consistent giggles played as background music.
Once they were done we all gathered around them with a single question on our minds, “What were they actually doing with the ink?" At last they spilled the beans... they were playing cricket with mathematics D-1 as a handy bat and plastic ink pot conveniently serving them as a ball. It all happened when one of them tried imitating Afridi and the disastrous sixer landed them in hot water. Dumbfounded, we all looked down at them. No one talked for a few moments as we were busy registering what they said and they sat there innocently blinking back at us. Finally, we busted out laughing and they felt no embarrassment in joining us!
I just wanted to write something light... something which puts a smile on my face every time the inky flashback strikes.