Autobiography of a pen

Autobiography of a pen

I have a pen. So far I have talked about others. I wrote about their happiness, sad story. I wrote the answer in the student's examination book. Doctors, lawyers, masters, clerks, judges - barristers have written to me about so many strange things. Stories, poems written by someone or me. I have written about people's minds all my life but no one has written about me. I am utterly speechless. Yet I also have something called life. The pen though has a history of my birth. That history is not very glorious. But no one can deny the contribution of my dynasty in the development of education and civilization. There is a proverb that says that birth is better than deeds. Today I am the constant companion of people because of my deeds. Educated, civilized people do not move a single moment without me. Speaking of this inevitable role of mine, let no one think that I am exaggerating my own value and dignity. So many people have written their thoughts with me. No one remembered me. At the end of the song, just as the harp is lying on the ground, I am also a victim of the situation. Everyone has put me to work. Someone thinks of me. My words did not come to mind. So today I will speak for myself. I will open my mind. I will tell my life story with open heart. I was in the back of a shop. Red in a beautiful plastic box. For a long time I fell in this situation. One day a well-dressed Dralake picked me up. Bought to be liked. He left me with the box in the bag. When he came home, he gave it to his eldest son as a gift. The boy is very happy to have me. Parker pens, very expensive. It is also very beautiful to look at. The gentleman laughed and said, ‘Khaeka, your test is ahead. If you write with a good pen, your test will be better. In this way I became connected with the future of the boy. The next day Khaeka took me to school and showed me to his friends. Everyone stared at me. Said, ‘Pretty expensive pen, what a beautiful sight! Khaeka very carefully kept me in his book pocket and Raj went to school. How much writing. Prose - The answer to the verse question. Writing in English, Bengali, sometimes arithmetic or geometry in this way gave me a lot of love. One day one of the teachers in the class grabbed me and wrote to me and praised me. He told Khaeka to line up carefully so as not to get lost. In the meantime, many people noticed me. One day during the tiffin period, Khakeka forgot me and left me on the table to drink water. At that moment a wicked boy took me away. He hid it in his pants pocket. Khaeka was upset to lose me. Unsettled, he wandered around the classroom, searching for friends. Then the incident of losing his pen was reported to Sir. Sir was very angry at the loss of the pen in class. The wicked boy was very scared. Unbeknownst to everyone, he threw me down and pushed me gently towards Khake's feet. I rolled and fell at Khaeka's feet. I said to myself, ‘Khaeka, this is me, pick me up. But my words do not reach Khoka's ears. At one point, as soon as he touched Khaeka's feet, he bent down and picked me up. He said happily, 'Sir, this is my pen. The naughty boy immediately said, "Sir, Khakeka hid the pen himself and just heard us gossip." Khaeka was startled and began to mumble. I was very upset to see Khaek's condition. Khaeka's mother wrote the list of the market with me, asking from Khaeka. Baraban Rumana never wrote a letter to a friend with me. In this way, the SSC examination of Khaeka came year after year. Theka wrote down all her test answers one by one with me. Then I lay lazily on the table for several days. Khaeka has no education, so my use has stopped. Khaeka did very well in the SSC examination. Khaeka was the first in the whole school. Everyone is overjoyed. Rumana said ‘Khaeka, this is her lucky pen. Some credit for his success should be given to this pen. What a joy it was to hear that. One afternoon, Khaeka's mother asked me to write a letter. After writing the letter, he put me on the table. Khaeka's three-year-old son grabbed me and put me in his mouth first. He opened the lid and threw it to one side. Then rubbed arbitrarily on the paved floor of the house. The nib of my writing became blunt and twisted. Not only that, at one point he smashed my body with a hard tooth in his mouth. I'm in so much pain. Khake's chest was shattered to break me like this. Khakeka cried at my fate. Now I'm in the trash can. Different parts of my body are torn to pieces. The conditions are scattered. The lid is now near the foot of the bed. After a while, maybe the work girl will throw me in the dustbin on the side of the road along with other garbage. Thus valuable to me. Life will end. Still, I can say that my life did not fail. For more than three years, I have received human love, affection. Got the honor of being Lucky Penn. I was a constant companion in Khaek's book pocket. I am blessed that a man shed tears in my sorrow.