English Translation of my Urdu Short Story Pencil Tarash by Suhail Akhtar
The Pencil Sharpener
(A short Story written in Urdu by Atif Malik, Translated in English by Suhail Akhtar)
(A short Story written in Urdu by Atif Malik, Translated in English by Suhail Akhtar)
The Urdu Version is available at :
http://aatifmalikk.blogspot.com/2017/10/PencilTarash.html
Sharpening pencils had become a habit, a hobby, an obsession; one which he could not forsake. The drawers of his office desk were brimming with pencil sharpeners of all sizes and colours. He kept their blades sharp and gleaming, ready to carve and mold any unsharpened pencil, a sight which he could not bear. Arranged neatly in a tray on top his desk were a wide variety of lead pencils with the leads so sharp and pointy that one could not resist the urge to pick them up and admire them. For him the sight of an unsharpened pencil was an anathema, which evoked within him feelings of being somehow unfulfilled. Only when he had sharpened and added it to his collection did he feel at peace again.
Head Clerk Pierre Chardonnay had spent his life keeping ledgers in the Accountant General’s office and retirement was now around the corner. Like any sedentary middle-aged man he would sometimes doze off sitting in his chair, periodically opening his eyes to make sure that his beloved pencils were still there. In the afternoon before leaving work he would put his pencils in the safe along with all his important office documents. In the morning before retrieving the documents he would count all the pencils to make sure no one had burgled the safe overnight. The Accountant general’s office was located in an old colonial building “and it might even be haunted” he mused. He wanted to protect his pencils from the evil spirits that might roam the labyrinth of corridors after dark.
In the office he himself was something of an apparition. Introverted and reserved he remained aloof of the office’s social landscape. Even his physical appearance was spectacularly unspectacular. Dressed in a crumpled nondescript suit, a wisp of thin gray hair surrounded the large bald spot on his head like a decaying crown. He was about as noticeable as a piece of office furniture.
The general ambiance in the all-male office reeked of defeat and dejection. Everyone seemed to be complaining. It could be the weather, the new taxes, the inflation rate or even successive defeats of the local rugby club; there was nothing positive doing the rounds of office gossip.
Under these circumstances the arrival of Ms. Fantoni was a welcome change. Not the kind of change that heralded the arrival of spring, but rather like an unexpected breeze on a warm muggy night. A change nonetheless!
Burdened by paucity of means and house hold chores Ms. Fantoni had aged prematurely. With her cheap dress, imitation jewelry and face devoid of makeup, she seemed to be an extension of the battered typewriter she was using.
When Head Clerk Pierre Chardonnay first lays eyes on her, he thought of an unsharpened pencil. A pencil that had been cast aside as useless, a pencil whose colour had faded and lost its shine, one whose lead had broken before it could be used.
Suddenly Head Clerk Pierre Chardonnay got up from his chair opened his drawer, took out his most prized pencil sharpener and placed it on Ms. Fantoni’s table. The office walls began to reverberate with the hum of the gossip that ensued.
#aatifmalik
Sharpening pencils had become a habit, a hobby, an obsession; one which he could not forsake. The drawers of his office desk were brimming with pencil sharpeners of all sizes and colours. He kept their blades sharp and gleaming, ready to carve and mold any unsharpened pencil, a sight which he could not bear. Arranged neatly in a tray on top his desk were a wide variety of lead pencils with the leads so sharp and pointy that one could not resist the urge to pick them up and admire them. For him the sight of an unsharpened pencil was an anathema, which evoked within him feelings of being somehow unfulfilled. Only when he had sharpened and added it to his collection did he feel at peace again.
Head Clerk Pierre Chardonnay had spent his life keeping ledgers in the Accountant General’s office and retirement was now around the corner. Like any sedentary middle-aged man he would sometimes doze off sitting in his chair, periodically opening his eyes to make sure that his beloved pencils were still there. In the afternoon before leaving work he would put his pencils in the safe along with all his important office documents. In the morning before retrieving the documents he would count all the pencils to make sure no one had burgled the safe overnight. The Accountant general’s office was located in an old colonial building “and it might even be haunted” he mused. He wanted to protect his pencils from the evil spirits that might roam the labyrinth of corridors after dark.
In the office he himself was something of an apparition. Introverted and reserved he remained aloof of the office’s social landscape. Even his physical appearance was spectacularly unspectacular. Dressed in a crumpled nondescript suit, a wisp of thin gray hair surrounded the large bald spot on his head like a decaying crown. He was about as noticeable as a piece of office furniture.
The general ambiance in the all-male office reeked of defeat and dejection. Everyone seemed to be complaining. It could be the weather, the new taxes, the inflation rate or even successive defeats of the local rugby club; there was nothing positive doing the rounds of office gossip.
Under these circumstances the arrival of Ms. Fantoni was a welcome change. Not the kind of change that heralded the arrival of spring, but rather like an unexpected breeze on a warm muggy night. A change nonetheless!
Burdened by paucity of means and house hold chores Ms. Fantoni had aged prematurely. With her cheap dress, imitation jewelry and face devoid of makeup, she seemed to be an extension of the battered typewriter she was using.
When Head Clerk Pierre Chardonnay first lays eyes on her, he thought of an unsharpened pencil. A pencil that had been cast aside as useless, a pencil whose colour had faded and lost its shine, one whose lead had broken before it could be used.
Suddenly Head Clerk Pierre Chardonnay got up from his chair opened his drawer, took out his most prized pencil sharpener and placed it on Ms. Fantoni’s table. The office walls began to reverberate with the hum of the gossip that ensued.
#aatifmalik
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