Writing is creation. It translates thoughts from our minds into words. Drawings and illustrations create imagination. Writings and drawings are then in the wider world for others to review, poke and admire — no wonder the instruments that give that magic power to humans became an important part of my life. I was seriously addicted to pens and pencils. I love my pens and pencils.
Writing helps others to understand your thoughts. Drawing helps you to illustrate powerfully. Holding and using a pen or a pencil is therapeutic. The sheer act of it relaxes your soul. I would not have been where I am today without pens and pencils.
My fascination started with pencils when I was a toddler. My father sat me down on our front veranda. He started by drawing a ship in the simplest of forms. He drew the ship’s hull, the two decks, one big funnel and a bit of smoke. He drew simple shapes that a small child could comprehend. I was fascinated with the form of the ship he created for me with a blue pencil. It was terrific, and the creation process took my imagination to another level.
I had easy access to pencils and paper that were probably deliberately left for me. I started drawing objects on my own using paper and pencils.
When I was in school in grade three, it was time to move on from pencils to fountain pens. I got a ‘Cial’ pen, blue in colour, made locally in Sri Lanka. I loved my new pen, often looking at his nib, opening its barrel, and exploring how it worked. My father taught me how to fill it with blue ink. I felt like a grown-up man with my pen.
When I was about ten, I found a shiny black fountain pen. I found it by flukeat the local village fair. It was a ‘Pilot’ pen. Pilot pens were expensive and only used by adults. None of my school friends had a Pilot pen. I loved my newfound Pilot pen, the adult pen and used it for schoolwork, discarding my cheap Cial pen.
The original Pilot pen (look-alike) on the left and my modern Pilot pen today
I loved peeping through my father’s drawers and looking at my father’s Parker pen with curiosity. It inspired me to imagine myself with a similar pen in the world of adults. I lusted to have one on my own when I grew up.
I was never a fan of ballpoint pens. I hardly used them. I felt the ink inside them was fake. Writing with them was not smooth. I felt the paper was suffocating, with the hard nibs of ballpoint pens, threatening to tear the paper underneath apart. In contrast, my Pilot pen was smooth and easy on paper. Its movement was easy to manoeuvre.
When I started working, I started a collection of fountain pens. I hoarded them, but I did use all of them in turns. Various nibs in all types, extra-fine, fine medium and broad. Various brands man, Lamy, Pilot, Monteverde, and ink types. I have blue, black, red, green, brown, dark red, and light blue inks. I rotate my fountain pens and colourful inks, bringing diversity to my life and work.
Denzil’s fountain pen and ink collection
Using different colours inspires me and helps me to innovate as I work. When I rotate my pens and use multi-coloured inks, it opens my creative juices. My thinking antenna opens up 360 degrees with a fountain pen in my hand.
Nothing beats holding a real pen or a pencil and feeling them on paper. I am completely mesmerised by them. Pens and pencils work similarly.
With a pen, ink flows through its tip, making great impressions on paper. My handwriting is crisp and sharp when I use a fountain pen. I feel satisfied when my hand and pen glide through the paper. The right amount of pressure leads to the right impression on paper. As a kid, I represented my high school in the country’s handwriting competition without coaching.
Writing and illustrating with a pen is exciting. It excites more with an exotic colour like brown, dark red, green, or light blue — colours many do not use but are used by artists and illustrators like me.
At work, I use my ink pens for illustrations and quick notes. Those graphic illustrations provide me with high-level notations to plan work. Only I could understand how I made sense of them. But they are my thought provokers and action markers.
Then I have this fascination with pencils. I am also a collector of pencils, various types, graphite, sketching, charcoal, and ordinary mechanical types. One time, I only used pencils at work. At the companies I worked for, I was the odd one with a journal and a pencil at meetings. That habit allowed me to think differently. It sparked my creativity, imagining the business problems the teams were trying to solve as a big canvas. It allowed me to contribute to team outcomes in my unique way.
Pencil collection is on left and graphic and charcoal pencils on the right.
I also draw using pencils. I use graphite and charcoal pencils for my artworkand illustrations. My collection of them goes back decades.
Illustration skills that I honed with my pens and pencils allow me to use my iPad Pro and the Apple pencil in ways I never thought possible. I have started to sketch and draw using them for my online work. Pens and pencils became the harbinger for using my iPad Pro and digital art now.
Writing or illustrating with a fountain pen or one of my pencils liberated my inner soul and helped me become a strategic leader.
I am fortunate to have had childhood influences with pens and pencils at an early age. I look forward to passing those influences on to my grandkids.
I love when my eldest grandkid, now three years old, wants to play with my pencils, doodling her stories away on paper whenever she visits me. My pen and pencil collection are for my grandkids. One of them will inherit my father’s Parker pen, transcending a life-giving habit through generations.
My writing instrument collection is on the left — my father’s Parker pen is on the right
A Child of Curiosity How inherent inquisitiveness became a key driver in learning experiences. Denzil Jayasinghe · B orn in the mid-20th century, I am a product of the post-World War II era. My parents, who were teenagers when the war commenced, married in the 1950s. As a representative of the baby boomer generation, I was born under the astrological sign of Capricorn, the tenth sign of the zodiac. My birth took place at Zoysa Nursing Home, a renowned institution in Colombo, Sri Lanka, around 5 in the morning. Sri Lanka, known for its tropical climate, is a beautiful island nation south of India. This climate appealed to me, and I sought similar weather in my twenties, spending them in Dubai, where the winter resembles an Australian summer. Raised by religious parents, I held them in deep affection. However, the church teachings posed a paradox for a young mind, instructing one to love God more than one’s parents. I initially adhered to the Ten Commandments and other societal norms in ...
Demons and Devotion: A Family’s Pilgrimage Denzil Jayasinghe · “Demons and Devotion: A Pilgrimage to Tewatta” is a short story by Denzil Jayasinghe about a family’s pilgrimage to a holy site in Sri Lanka. The story follows Denzil, the eldest son, as he reluctantly accompanies his devout parents on this journey to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. Although initially sceptical, Denzil reflects on his childhood faith and his family's hardships. However, the pilgrimage turns unexpectedly when an encounter with a priest who claims a demon possesses Denzil creates tension and leaves him angry. T he air hung heavy with a solemnity that felt out of place for a silver wedding anniversary. Denzil’s father, whose pronouncements held the weight of scripture, declared, “We are going on a special trip to the holy place of Our Lady at Tewatta. This day, showing God’s blessings, will be a private event for our family.” On a recent arrival for a two-week holiday in Sri Lanka...
Shattered Innocence A story of a needle Denzil Jayasinghe · “Shattered Innocence. A Story of a Needle” by Denzil Jayasinghe is a short story told from the perspective of a lad who discovers their father injecting insulin . This discovery shatters his innocence as he grapples with the reality of his father’s diabetes and the fear and uncertainty it brings. The story explores themes of family, responsibility, and the challenges of facing difficult realities. T he pre-dawn light filtered through the window, casting a pale glow over a scene that shattered my world. We were lost in the quiet routine of getting ready — me for the apprenticeship, my siblings for school, and my father for his work. I wandered into my parents’ room, searching for the familiar black comb. What I found wasn’t the comb but a sight that froze me in my tracks. Father, stripped down to his white undies, his usually strong face creased with worry, was doing something… di...
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