The Pencil

As I sipped my cup of  chai, there were thousands of thoughts running through mind. Thousands of stories being formed, thousands of ideas slowly taking shape. Thousands of words running through my itching to find an outlet, itching find a way in paper.

I looked around for my laptop, only to realise that I had given it for servicing. And luck would have it, my phone was completely drained. 

So I looked around for something where I could pour my thoughts  before it slipped into oblivion, thanks to a very forgetful mind (I blame it on those diminishing grey cells and increasing greys in the hair).

And there it lay, like a long forgotten friend, a best friend who at one point in time I couldn’t do without, but now had been relegated to the back of mind, my dearest pencil, with its trusty sidekick, notepad.

The sight of this trusty old friend flooded my mind with sweet memory of the wonderful times we shared.

I remembered how I proudly showed it off to my friend. How I used to sharpen it to ensure that it was always on point. Remember all the competition it helped me win, when I compared it with those of my classmates, the tallest and the most pointed. It was incomparable, unbeatable, one of a kind.

I remembered all the access adorned it with to not just increase its utility but make it all the more fancy.

Come birthday, it was that what you distributed amongst your classmates and not seemed so cheap.

I remember all the doodles I had drawn, the incoherent scribbling, the examinations and papers I wrote. A very trusty friend.

The advent of the digital gadget had diminished it importance, reduced it dependency, speeding it up to near obseletion.

But now that I found it, it was time to make new memories with it, relive the old ones. So I began scribbling my thoughts with glee, behaving like we were never apart.