Dear Parker

Here it is — a classic Parker 61, one with gold nib. It writes only at a particular inclination though. That’s the angle at which he held it, perhaps.

I need to get used to it. It doesn’t, to me. I tried twisting, turning and forcing it to obey my style, only to end up with blotches of ink on my palm and the paper.

It’s his pen, after all. It’s as stubborn as he was. Writing with it reminds me of my conversations with Grand-dad.Discussing, debating and trying to convince a strong-headed old-man — it felt the same.

It writes beautifully though. Turns my cacography into calligraphy. Those conversations were beautiful, too. They shaped me, in many ways.

It leaks now and then — it’s very old now. But it sure seems to have the will to go on. He had had it.

Hang in there,dear Parker. There’s so much I need to tell him.