An Autobiography of a Wrist-Watch
I am now an almost dead and useless object. But once I too had my glorious hour. Now I have ceased to function and lying in the junk-box of a spare-part dealer of watches.
But, whenever I think of my past my heart leaps in joy. I would like to share with you my silent joy.
I was born at the HMT watch factory in Bangalore. Fourteenth jewels were strengthening my body. A bright golden dial with radium figures adorned my face. My delicate but precious heart ticked merrily in a rolled gold case.
From the factory, I was transported to the capital ray of India, Delhi, where I remained shining behind the glass panel of various shops of the city markets. One day, a burly professor fell for me and after paying my price tied me over his hand. Then began my active life.
With that professor I must have visited scores of universities. Twice I had gone out of the country with him. In Switzerland, I happened to see a shop having many of my foreign cousins. But my owner, that kind professor did not even look at them. Such was his fascination and love for me.
As the days passed, I started losing my grace and strength. I suffered from periodic ailments. My master began to feel disgusted with me. He no longer took tender care of me. He would leave me anywhere carelessly because I was no longer in my former graceful self. My owner was fast losing interest in me. In fact he was feeling sick of me.
One day he left me in his bathroom. And by mistake his grandson caught hold of me and trampled me under his boots. I was so badly damaged that I became even irreparable. As I was of no use now, my master handed me over to his Kabhadi (the junk-man) who sold me for paltry two rupees to this dealer of the old spare parts. Since I haven’t hope to get revived; I am counting my days of death. May it come soon.