The Road ahead

The kids succeeded. They got me, next thing, very predictable, they were fighting over my ownership. I was happy as I felt important, I still held some value to someone. After an hour of clash, they arrived at a consensus. They could not keep me for their use , not because of ignorance of technical know how or lack of intelligence but for the simple reason that they were children of the lesser God. They had never experienced the goodies electricity brought with its advent , not in a country with 1.7Lakh MW installed capacity. They decided to trade it for Rs 50 with Lakhu Bhai baniya and successfully got the hefty amount they had thought of. They were happy and planned for a feast for night at Salim's The local Dhaba. Here , I could see the sparkling eyes of Lakhu bhai who had already started dreaming of probable gains of my sale to some prospective customer.
He cleaned me, polished my surface which was rubbed and somewhat deteriorated while my 2 days stay at the heap. I also bore a scratch to my right, a reminder of the kids' fight. Now I have been brought to a dark and scary place. There are all strangers. All the time I tried mustering up enough courage to talk to them. They were haughty, square faced , not at all friendly. The night rolled over and I was lost into dreams, Meerut, the old Sandy , new gas with 4-burners, power cuts & Mrs Banker.

The door creaked and Lakhu entered, he took me upstairs where a young lady in early twenties, wearing a red saree was waiting. As soon as she got sight of me, I could see , she was impressed , she desired me. She did some calculations and uttered a figure , Rs 150. Lakhu bhai negotiated and the lady won me for Rs200.

I made way to my journey ahead, to my new destination. My new residence is a 1 BHK rented apartment at outskirts of Noida. The furniture, the appliances say the owner is not very rich. I am one of their prized possessions. I am again into a kitchen, the new owner loves me more than earlier one.

But this time , I am neither happy nor sad. I never miss my old Mrs Banker, the kids, Meerut. I have forgotten how I was disowned and never sought after. It was my greatest folly , I personified myself when I was only a material object.


Signing off..
Urs ( Mrs Banker)

Tally.... !!!!!!

The curious case of Tally " The toaster"

Hii!!!

I am Tally , the toaster , Make: Philips , Model : HD2566/79 ,950 W. I was manufactured in a factory located in Salt Lake , Calcutta ( Now Kolkata) and shipped to the city of mutineers Meerut for sales. I was one of the prime features of a newly inaugurated Electronics Showroom and jump started my further journey being bought by a middle class banker's family. I believe , he must have done cost benefit analysis of purchasing me. In their traditional Indian kitchen, I outscored any other appliance in looks, features and also the attention I got from the family. I was blessed with power of electricity. I looked down upon the pressure cooker , the regular sandwich maker , for I felt myself superior , the privileged class. The 2 kids in the family, turning to English Breakfast of Toast butter/jam owing to their Convent eduction, loved me the most and they even flaunted my existence in their kitchen. But there were times when other appliances got a chance to mock at me , rather such incidences were frequent , the regular power cuts in the city.

As time passed they made peace with me , we realized that each of us had its own importance. There were entries in the family , the new 4- burner gas stove. Old Sandy “ the sandwich maker” retired. Life moved on. The kids grew older and left to new bastions for higher studies. The mid aged couple seldom used me. I was left alone, ignored , I was at receiving end in my uncontested territory. I started hating my life.

Then, a ray of hope came my way. The son visiting home decided to take me with him to Noida ( Suburb of National capital New Delhi). I was excited for it was going to be a thrilling experience- new people , new place . For the 1^st time in my life cycle I was travelling by a car , something imagined in dreams only. Since there was no one else accompanying , I was put on the back seat ( instead of the dark hell at back of car) and I could see the world through the windows. I was brought in a new kitchen , I was welcomed and to my self admiration , years later , still I was king , the ruler in the kitchen for there being no other electronic appliance than me. Months passed, everything was perfect until one day a mouse got trapped inside me. With next tap on the power switch, a major turn around had taken place. The mouse breathed its last in me . It was an accident, I was no guilty but I was accused , called a murderer and accordingly punished.

Today, I am lying on a big heap of garbage , a place where all the city rejects are thrown. Two curious kids down there with big plastic sacks on their back and sticks in their hands are eying me. I will be caught hold of and submitted to the local junk shop owner ( better known as “ Kabadiwallah”) and he will be one deciding my fate. Looking back at my life , at the concept phase in Omaha, Nebraska, forming days in Salt lake , in Meerut , in Noida , I had worst of nightmares but this. I am fully functional yet discarded for a crime I never committed. There is no appellate for me. No one to listen , so I resorted to writing down my plea hoping someone someday might come across it and do me justice.