In a big city where you don’t know anyone, it’s hard to find a place of your own. A place that will be your home away from home and offer you a comfortable corner. Be in Calcutta for almost three years, I still felt like an outsider. Among all acquaintances, the friends account is always a small number. So the survival journey is mostly lonely.
During my time at university, I lived in a hostel across the street that belonged to a government-subsidized institution for poor children named after a prominent social worker. It had a school within its premises, a hostel for the students who studied there, and a dormitory for some university students. Rent and food expenses were modest, as was living. The bedroom was shared by six girls along with the caretaker who was almost deaf so he did not stand in the way of parties, celebrations and events that gave us the right to scream at the top of our lungs. There was a large study room and dining room, both in need of repair and rebuilding. Although everything seemed so depressing, there was a cozy atmosphere that metropolitan cities can rarely offer. Right outside the hostel was a tram line where the trams were moving at their unusually slow speed along with some fast moving traffic. I used to sit on the stairs outside the hostel building and daydream while looking at the advertisements on the body of the tram cars.
The university campus was smaller than normally expected, containing four to five buildings. In one of those buildings at the back of campus was my apartment. There were some classmates who became good friends with me and could instill in me the illusion of belonging to the unknown circumstances. Most days, after classes, we would go to a small canteen right next to our building and have hot tea and delicious samosas accompanied by lengthy discussions, heated debates and lively chatter on every possible topic under the sun.
Although many things were happening, I felt an emptiness inside me that never seemed to diminish. Sometimes he used to take a walk on the sidewalk of the university campus. There were street food vendors, a cobbler, and a small stationery store as well. The latter was almost a tin cabinet where the pen vendor seemed to be permanently installed with no way in or out of the store. Most days I used to stop by this store and look at and try out various pens for hours. The man, although he had a frightening look, a huge build and red eyes, never showed any irritation towards me. He continued to pull pens from behind display cases and sometimes from his hidden stock as well. After seeing and scribbling with almost all the pens, I was left with only one of three or four rupees, which at that time were the only ones I could afford with my meager pocket money. Sometimes I was a little afraid that he would yell at me for wasting so much of his time. But throughout the 2 years I was there, he never said a cross word to me.
One day, it was raining heavily and I had no umbrella. I had just gotten off a bus and had to walk a short distance back to my hostel. I started to walk in that direction, when I heard someone shout, “sister”, “sister”. I looked back and saw the stationery salesman. I went up to him and asked him what was wrong. He said that since it was raining a lot, he could sit in his tent, check out the new stock of pens, and come back to the hostel when the rain stopped. I hesitated for a moment, but the prospect of having a look at the pens made me say yes. To my surprise, I discovered that the store was bigger than I thought and had a small lobby behind it. He offered me a chair and took out the thoughts for me. Once, while writing with one of them, I took a quick look at the man and found him smiling at me. I quickly put the pen aside and put a serene look on my face. But then it was suddenly gone and I was sitting alone with my eyes wandering here and there when I saw a parker pencil. After a while she came back with a cup of steaming tea and offered it to me with such a graceful gesture that I couldn’t deny it, although I felt strange. I asked him to show me the parker pencil. It looked so elegant and wrote so smoothly that I wanted to buy it with all my heart, but as expected, it was very expensive. I think I was holding on to the price tag for more than a minute when the shopkeeper said, I can give you the pen for ninety-five rupees instead of one hundred. I looked up and thanked him for the offer, but declined because it was still quite expensive for me. By this time, the rain had stopped and after thanking him for his kindness, I quickly walked back to my hostel.
After that day, the store had become my favorite place to hang out. He used to sell me the pens always at a discount price and very often he would also offer me tea. He had a lot of information about the different types of pens and other writing instruments. Although the two of us knew nothing about each other, we had a deep friendship based on a common taste for pens.
After two years, I went home to prepare for my final exams. Right after my exams were over, I went to the store, only to find it locked. I looked around but couldn’t find anyone around. Suddenly, the cobbler sitting on the sidewalk called me and told me that the pen salesman had sold his shop and moved back to his town. When I asked him what happened, he couldn’t give me exact information, but he said there was some kind of accident and a death in the family. I felt very sorry for the man and came back feeling sad. I had to go home the next day, so I started packing my things. As I was packing my books and stationery into my suitcase, I found hundreds of pens, all purchased from that stationery store. I took out one of the pens and thought, how an insignificant acquaintance becomes an important part of your life. I wanted to meet you one last time and thank you for keeping me company for the past two years. I think that little shop was dearer to me than all my friends.