Who am I ? A pencil !

Hey there. I am self- consuming as I speak my heart out. I burn myself every day to spread light of knowledge. Well, not everything written is good but almost. I can move in a straight line till infinity and I can sketch contortions.

I can solve complex equations and convey simplest of truth. I help write literature, influence culture and burn midnight oil. You must be wondering who I am. I am a pencil. Sleek, round and with a dark core. I get cut and grilled to deliver crisp and sharp outlines.

I am a writing implement. I help in writing and drawing. I leave a mark on a paper, wall or any surface. I was gradually discovered in the 15th to 16th century in the roughest and the most innovative form by humans. They used chalks (limestone), graphite and coal to write or draw what they could make a note of. Then England and China tried claiming the inventions and discoveries and it is still controversial. I am now used in a form of hard clay or wood case with graphite/ lead stick inside it. Whoever invented me, forgot to mention his name.

I can easily be removed using an eraser & over a course of time and I lose the darkness as well.

Today, I am available in the simplest of the forms and in the most creative way. I am not used in space, because humans fear that if the lead breaks it can hurt someone and that is true because lead is toxic. Artists use me in many forms, charcoal pencils, 1b, 2b, HB, 3b etc. This “b” denotes the width and darkness of the lead. When artists make sketches, I am the most important tool they use, after Paper. Ah, Paper. Paper is my best friend; I work the best on it, but only if it is dry. Basically we both are partially made by a tree. That reminds me, Grow Trees. I will be more readily available.

My Idol

My Mother is my Idol.

That woman is not just my idol but everyone who meets her and knows her. You can admire her in an instance. Her serenity, her endurance, her friendliness and her commitment to life is not commonly found in one person altogether.

She is a simple woman and yet the classiest one. Studied from a reputed college, born and bought up with 7 other siblings, and still managed to be the most amiable of all. She never worked in an office but still knows and understands the work environment better than someone who does work in office. That makes her a very easy person to talk to.

She is punctual, hardworking and has a fixed schedule since years. She prays but is not illusory, she studies a Hindi newspaper but you can talk to her about any world news and she will have enough material and facts to have a discussion.

When she falls sick, she never asks for any help, it makes her weak, she still tries to manage everything on her own. My father has lived abroad for years, and she managed all the bank work, property deals, house hold work, every cupboard in our house on her own, but of course I was there to help her sooner or later. Perhaps, could not give her as much attention as she deserved.

Her presence and her brass tacks of life are my most prized possession.

I am sure everyone’s mother is somehow similar to what mine is.
We all treat her critically in our teen years. She makes every meal with lot of considerations and we rush out of the house without even admiring her effort and her lip-smacking dishes.

Nonetheless, I always made a point of appreciating everything she cooks.

But a few years ago, I felt like even she could not help me, I was dreamy and I left her alone to pursue my selfish dream. That gave me nothing, because I caused her pain. However I came back before it was too late. Perhaps the anxiety will never leave my side. I wish I could turn back the time.

I am an agnostic, to me my god is my mother.