Autobiography of a Coin Essay

I am now an old coin and have been in circulation for many, many years. I am worn out now
and the lion’s head on my face is very faint. But I still remember my early youth when I was in
the government treasury, with my bright companions.

I shone brightly then and the lion’s head glittered brightly. My active life began when I was paid
out from the counter of a bank, along with other new rupees, to a gentleman who got a cheque
encashed.

I went off jingling in his pocket, but I was not there for long, as he gave me to a shopkeeper. The
shopkeeper looked pleased when he had me in his hand, and said, “I have not seen a new
rupee for some time“, and he banged me against his counter to see if I was genuine.

I gave out such a clear ringing note that he picked me up and threw me into a drawer along
with a lot of other coins. I soon found we were in a mixed company.

I took notice of the greasy copper coins, as I knew they were of low caste; and I was
condescending to the small change knowing that I was twice as valuable as the best of them,
the fifty paise coins, and a hundred times better than the cheeky little paisa.

But I found a number of rupees of my own rank but none so new and bright as I was. Some of
them were jealous of my smart appearance and made nasty remarks, but one very old rupee
was kind to me and gave me good advice.

He told me I must respect old rupees and always keep the small change in their place. A rupee
is always a rupee, however old and worn, he advised. Our conversation was interrupted by the
opening of the drawer, and I was given out to a young lady, from whose hands I slipped and fell
into a gutter.

Eventually, a very dirty and ragged boy picked me up, and for some time thereafter that I was in
very low company passing between poor people and small shopkeepers in dirty little streets.

But at last, I got into good society, and most of my time I have been in the pocket and purses of
the rich. I have lived an active life and never rested for long anywhere.
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A PEN
I stood in the darkest corner of her enormous room, alone, with no one to talk to or even write
to. And there she was with her new friend, unaware of my dejected feelings and hopeless state.
But this is not me...This was never me! Nor was this the life I had imagined! Let me take you a
few months back…

I was a pen, red and shiny but had always written in royal blue. I was the gift from her dad on
her fifteenth birthday. She used to be fond of me and used to take me everywhere, through
people, places and events … I had travelled so much, through pages and pages of the feelings
that lay inside her, through her writing. She used to call me her “Lucky Pen”.

But one day, I remember her writing … writing harsh on the roughest paper I had experienced.
She was crying and I could feel her tears on me. It was sad to know that she had lost her dad
because I knew she loved him the most. But then, the most horrible thing happened when she
accidentally put me down and dented my nib. That hurt! “Oh No!” she wept and cried even
more. I wanted to console her, write “I’m OK! Really!” on the sheet of paper she had in front of
her. But Alas I couldn’t because even though they call us mightier than the sword, neither can
we stand on our own nor can we express what we feel. We can articulate what our owners feel
or what they want but not about our own selves. So that was the last of her I had known! That
was the last of Us!

I enjoyed running over the soft and smooth pages of her diary, telling about all what she felt …
made me cry sometimes, reading what she wrote. And that’s why I bled, and she went berserk
at that because bleed is what good pens aren’t supposed to do, only if she understood why I
bled!

I loved being with her. “Lucky Pen” she used to call me and I was proud of that status. 

I am on the wait now for her to pick me up and give me some exercise. I miss reading into her
mind. I miss being the first person to know what she felt. I miss her. She never even comes to
me these days. I see her fingers flying over the black and white keys with her eyes fixed on the
white flickering screen. I see they are her friends now and I am neglected. Although they print
well what she says and thinks but they will never smell her hand nor will ever see her beautiful
handwriting. They will never bleed for her nor will they think or cry for her …

I stay in her pen stand, waiting to be taken in her fingers again, drink in ink once more and spill
it all out for her … but I guess I will have to stay like this and wait in vain for the rest of my life!
 Autobiography of a Tree
I am a tree; and like God’s all other blessings, I am the most neglected, uncared for, and
ignored entity in the world. I clearly remember the time before creation of the world when God
had a meeting with me.

He entrusted me with the responsibility of maintaining life on earth. I was to be the source of life.
I was to be a giver only. And I have been carrying out my responsibilities very sincerely; I give
man oxygen, rains, wood, fruit, make the world look so beautiful, yet the sinister man kills me!
Who is more inhumane than man himself? Cutting of forests ultimately endangers man’s own
existence.

I and my brothers and sisters are the oxygen generators of the world; oxygen generated by me
is inhaled by man and all living species of animal kingdom. How will they live without me?
Almost an uncountable number of species of plants and animals live in the environment created
by trees. Trees are important to the environment as they recycle water and regulate levels of
carbon dioxide in the atmosphere through photosynthesis. We, the trees are the world's heavy-
duty regulators of air and water. Our cutting will disturb the natural water cycles which will lead
to the shortage of fresh-water in the water reserves of the world.

 We as forests are also very important because we are home to an enormous number of plants
and animals. Even more importantly, we are home to many unique plants and animals that do
not exist anywhere else in the world.  If the tropical rainforests were to be destroyed, so would
the homes of all these species. Without a home, many of these species could become extinct.

Cutting of trees has only bad effects on weather, climate, life, and environment. All the
environmental problems such as pollution, global warming, irregular climatic changes, floods,
etc. are caused by cutting of trees.   Cutting of these trees has had a negative effect on the
environment. It has resulted in an increase in the amount of carbon and other greenhouse
gases in the environment. Burning of these forests has resulted in the emission of a large
amount of carbon dioxide into the air. Carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases like the
oxides of nitrogen and methane trap atmospheric heat, thus increasing the average temperature
of the Earth's surface. This increase in the temperature near the Earth's surface and oceans is
termed as global warming.

Changed weather conditions, changing agricultural yields, and increase in the disease vectors
are some of the other effects of global warming. Deforestation, being the primary reason behind
global warming, we need to be shown greater concern by man. Man must take quick measures
for preventing deforestation of the tropical forests so that he can live in an environment that is
healthy to live in.  

So, you see how crucial we, the trees are for evolution and the smooth running of all the life
forms on the planet. We are indeed the power-house of evolution. Time has come for man to
realize our divinity. If he can’t worship us as angels, he must treat us more respectfully and
gratefully.
 Autobiography of a School Bag
I am a school bag. My name is Puffus. I am train themed. My color is blue and
green. I have seven zipped pockets. A bag manufacturing factory made me. I was
kept in a big bag’s shop.

One day a boy named Abdullah came to the shop with his father. He was looking for
a new school bag and decided to take me home. He loved and liked me a lot. Before
he had a Dinosaur themed bag but he didn’t like it anymore. So he gave it to his little
brother and bought me. When I entered in his house I was in a different room with
many toys and stuffed animals. He used to buy a lot of new things. He was a very
rich child. He kept all of his books and stationary in me. He found me useful.

I carried everything he wanted to take to his school. I kept the things safe in me and
made sure that no one touched any of his things. Every night his mother checked
me to watch out whether all the things were organized or not. Every morning his
mom kept his lunch bag and water bottle beside me. He picked me up everyday and
took me to school. Once Abdullah picked me up and I got stuck in his class chair. He
pulled me and I got torn. Instead of repairing me, I was thrown on a heap of
garbage. I was very sad. I thought Abdullah was very caring but he wasn’t.

After a few hours, a poor lady picked me up and took me home. She washed and
scrubbed me with soapy water. She sewed me and hanged me on the wall. When I
was dried she gave me to her son named Ali. He was extremely happy to get me
because he always wanted to have a backpack. Poor Ali took care of me more than
Abdullah and used me for years.

I liked my new owner a lot. I learnt a lesson in my life that being with the rich is not
important rather a caring owner is more valuable.
 Autobiography of a classroom

I am a very big classroom in a well-known public school. I cater to needs of the kindergarten
class of the school, accommodating I think about eighty five children, a big number isn’t it?

I understand that I am the best looking room in the school as, the very small children study here.
I am very attractively decorated so that the little ones like to come here every day. The room
that is me – is decorated with beautiful coloured pictures.

The walls are a blend of some colours I do not know the names of. The furniture that is placed
in the length and breadth of the room consists of small round tables to seat four children on
each table, and the chairs are also tiny. That is not all, all the furniture is a mixture of many
colours. When the children come inside the class they almost fight to sit on certain chairs. That
makes me understand that they like the colours and fight for their favourite colours to sit on.

At the top two ends of the length of the classroom there are two bigger tables and full size
chairs for the teachers to sit. Since there are so many children there are two teachers while in
other classes there is only one each. I am a treat for everyone to see. My pleasure knows no
bounds when everyone who comes inside the class, admires me, appreciates my get up and
the colours that don me. I have the twin advantage of being the most beautiful room in the
school and also having the cutest of children coming to spend their time with me.

Thus, my life is full of beauty, colour, noise and laughter and at times of course also crying and
howling of the children. At times some new entrants to the school come to me with their mothers
and, cry as if they had come to the slaughter house to be butchered. At such moments even by
heart cries for the little ones and I wonder why man makes these little children come to study if
they do not want to. I of course do not know how important studies are for human children, I
only feel sad seeing the children cry.

My life is full of a very busy schedule though very interesting. The routine of my daily life is so
busy that, I do not get any relief for quite long hours. In the morning as early as 6 a.m. two
sweepers come open the lock of my room or rather me, and off they start working on me. They
sweep my floor, squab it, dust each and every piece of the furniture in me. Thus, I get alerted as
soon the room is unlocked. It is not even 8 a.m. when the little brats start pouring inside my
body’s doors.

At times they enter with so much noise that my whole body feels the rattle of it all. Their
movements are so loud that now, I cannot even think of any rest. School bags get flung, tiffin
boxes are strewn all about, water bottles are kept just anywhere and there is a lot of commotion
all over. Soon the maid enters the room and keeps everything in order and my appearance at
once improves and I look tidy and well kept. For these small ones the school hours are just
three from, 8 a.m. to 11 a.m. These three hours is my duty time, and just is the time when I also
get the day’s entertainment.
Being a classroom for the Kindergarten children I get a great chance of hearing conversations
between the teachers and the parents. Since this is the first time their children have entered
school, parents devote a lot of time to talking about the school and its standards. At times I find
that some parents are just too critical and, inspite of getting all the best in this school they
always seem to be unhappy and dissatisfied with something or the other in the school.

Such parents keep lecturing about things missing in the classroom, the school or even in the
playground. When I hear such complaints, my heart sinks and I wonder if they will allow or not
allow their children to come to me any more,. For such conversations I have understood that,
these days parents pamper the children too much, and it seems that they can never yes, never
be satisfied. I am quite surprised to see the vast difference in opinions. While on the one hand I,
and also many parents think that I am very beautiful, well kept, and decorated, others of the
same clan are always complaining of many defects in my appearance.

This gives me a feeling of depression and I do wonder if I can do anything in the matter. After
some thinking bouts, I realize that, I can do nothing to satisfy these unhappy parents. I am just
here in the hands of the school authorities and stand here as and how they keep me.