I grew up with Sulekha ink blotches on the shirt pockets of my school uniform. It was a kind of “badge of honour,” like the ink-stained fingers and callouses on the fiddle finger, that on a deep subconscious level reassured us that we were giving our studies all that was physically possible.
My grandfather, father and uncles had ink on their fingers as well, and we knew instinctively that they too were slogging it, wherever their offices were. Our mothers and other seniors in the house too, occasionally had “executive blue” fingers when they would fill post cards to keep in touch with friends and relatives. It was a family thing – a bond of ink that was indelible. And it was always Sulekha, the only ink that we knew about in our growing years.
Come to think of it, as school going children, we were not at all brand conscious, using whatever was provided to us by our parents. Writing ink would not have been any different logically. But Sulekha was different – or one, their factory was just a few minutes’ walk from where we stayed in Jadavpur; two because our elders had a special corner for this brand, evolved as it had from Rajshahi, now in Bangladesh, from where we had originally hailed; but most importantly, as my grandfather never ceased to remind us, because it was a Swadeshi brand, one that had dared to fight the colonial masters to prove to the world, that we too could match them in manufacturing excellence. And yes, even as children, we knew that Sulekha inks were first created for Mahatma Gandhi to write with.
It was much later, in the late 1980’s that I realised that there was another compelling reason behind Sulekha’s reigning popularity where we lived. Unfortunately, it was after Sulekha was forced to go on a lockout forced by militant trade unionism. Sulekha was a household name in the area, as so many bread earners depended on it for their upkeep, just like they did on its neighbour, Krishna Glass, which too had followed a similar fate around the same time.
Then had come a prolonged period when, for whatever reasons, I too had taken up the dot pen to do my writing with. The romance of ink-stained fingers was forgotten, and fountain pens were quietly, unconsciously even, pushed back into the far end of drawers. Was it only because dot pens were then considered to be more convenient? Was it because they created a lesser amount of fuss as writing instruments? Was it because they started to become progressively cheaper as we embraced the use-and-throw culture? Perhaps all of them were true. Perhaps the drying up of the supply line with Sulekha’s closure was also a factor that had led to the demand crunch. I can only guess.
I re-learnt about Sulekha, its struggle to reinvent itself after decades of closure, and its fight to bring the forgotten fountain pen and ink back into reckoning during the Covid years. I too, like many others, bought my fountain pen and Sulekha ink from the net in those terrible days, locked in as we were. And as I started writing again, I realised how wielding a fountain pen was a cathartic experience that led to better retention of knowledge, improved handwriting, and through it, was a confidence booster that helped fight several psychosomatic issues. And voila, the fountain pens did not leak like sieves as they used to. But it was Sulekha’s resurgence story that touched my heart.
Every bottle of ink that they were selling had a story – a captivating narrative, ensconced in packaging that was artistically executed. They were all over the place– carefully nurturing the support of old users as force multipliers, as “aggregators” in the digital space. I for one, had never seen a brand achieve so much visibility by spending so little and would never have believed that one can reclaim the place in the public consciousness it had lost decades back, had I not witnessed Sulekha achieving the impossible. The way Sulekha handled the media, bringing them onboard, across the board, even as they scripted their remarkable turnaround story, was another lesson in management.
Post Covid they continued their march forward – straddling the Book Fair, visiting schools to reintroduce the fountain pen and ink to students, to refurbish the cult of handwriting. And then they expanded the market further by quietly enticing the artists– and this includes huge names like Jogen Chowdhury and Suvaprasanna – to use Sulekha inks to create their masterpieces with. This is when I decided that I should throw in my hat into the ring as well. And there are compelling reasons that made me walk on this course of action.
Like Sulekha, we too are from Jadavpur. We too were in the ink business before, and we, like them, were forced to down our shutters due to political reasons. However, instead of fountain pen inks, Profile was into the manufacture of drawing inks, which I felt, artists would be more at ease using when compared to fountain pen inks. Besides, apart from having grown up in the factory where Profile inks used to be manufactured, I have the necessary knowledge, having studied chemistry all my life. And finally, I guess, I owe it to my forefathers to revive the Profile brand and ensure its continued well-being.
Profile Inks are now back in the market, and I can rightfully lay claim to having revived a near century-old Profile brand that once dominated the market segment in which it operated. However, I have no qualms in admitting that it is from Sulekha that I drew my inspiration. Hopefully, I will be able to work out a system wherein we do the manufacturing and they distribute the Profile inks along with their own. I am keeping my fingers crossed. Wish me luck, for I believe that this is just the beginning.
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