Essay on Autobiography of a School Bag
I was never given a name my whole life, but I always wanted to be called Sita. I am a school bag, black and white in colour, with steel grey zippers. By my appearance, you would say that I was completely qualified to be a boy. It’s okay, most of the people make this mistake. I have seen some of the worst days and even some of the best. In fact, I have seen it all.
I wasn’t made in big factories like the other school bags but was instead stitched by a tailor. That tailor was old but very hardworking. His job was to mend clothes worn by humans and stitch them, but whenever he felt like doing something creative, he would resort to sewing something altogether different.
He would make beautiful cushion covers, attractive schoolbags and embroidered bed sheets. He would then display us all in his little shop to be sold.
I was brought by a young lady who had come to give the tailor a cloth from which a blouse had to be made. She glanced casually at me and held me in her hand right away. Her name was Rekha. She was an 11th standard student studying Science.
Rekha was one of the nicest and warmest persons I ever met. She took me with her to her school as well as her tuition centre. She would gently keep her books according to her school timetable in me.
She even wrapped her lunch box in a plastic bag before putting it in me because she did not want any food to spill on me and make me dirty. Even while sitting in the class, Rekha would make sure that she never kicked me with her shoes, not even by mistake.
Once a week, mostly on Saturdays, Rekha would empty all of my contents from every pocket and wash me in the washing machine. She would then leave me in the sun to dry.
Rekha’s father was in the Railways, so he was away from home most of the time. But whenever he used to come back home, he would bring Rekha a key chain. Sometimes that key-chain would be a guitar; sometimes it would be a dolphin. But her most favourite was the one who had her name on it. She tied that key chain on my zip, and I felt elated.
But just like all good things come to an end, my journey with Rekha was also about to get over. Rekha was now going to go to a college to get her undergraduate degree.
So, her father brought her a new school bag and a cell phone as a gift, whereas her mother gifted her two pairs of earrings and fully stitched suits.
Rekha had secured very good marks in her 12th standard. I was very proud of her. I wish I could say to her how much fun I had being beside her. In my head, I wished her good luck and waited to know where my fate was going to take me.
After a month or two, after Rekha had left, her mother was cleaning her room. She then came across me. She gave me to the housemaid and told her that since I was in such good condition, her son could use me.
The housemaid thanked Rekha’s mother and took me to her son as soon as her work got over. I was extremely excited to meet my new owner. I had butterflies flying in my belly.
As soon as we reached the house maid’s home, I was given to her son Sham. I knew growing boys were naughty and weren’t as disciplined as girls, but Sham was a little too extreme. He was a 10-year old boy who had no respect for things as well as people.
Sham stuffed his intentionally torn books in me and took me to school. As soon as he would reach the classroom, he would throw me on the floor near his seat. He even kicked me when the class teacher delivered her lectures.
What’s more? He used to stick his eaten chewing gum on my bottom and poke holes in me with a compass. Sham used to spill beverages and food on me, but he never once cleaned me.
He used a black marker to scribble on my white area. I am not a beautiful and eye-pleasing bag that I once was. I am now only an ugly bag with dirty stains and rotten food inside.
I don’t know how much longer I can bear this torture. But I hope that Sham learns the value of things as he grows up in life. I would never wish for any other school bag to experience what I am going through.