The autobiographical note from a aged Table Lamp
My name does not matter. Been a table lamp for over eight years at the house of Mr.Rajesh. I was not born to do this. I had bigger plans in mind. We will get to that in a minute. Rajesh bought me at a sale. That day, he walked right past me. Then came back to take a second glance, it was love at second sight. The label on me read “Now On Sale”. He came close to see what’s on the tag. I could sense his breath on my lampshade. “Now at Rs.999, Old price Rs.1200” read the label. Rajesh knew the scam, but fell for it.
He took me home and made place for me on the living room table. Right next to his landline. Oh! the landline. The cordless landline and I shared a common spike buster. The day I came home, Rajesh turned off every the lights in the house and lit me on. My sharp yellow glow lit the entire north-western corner of the room. He sat on the rocking-chair beside me and read a book. Rajesh did not read much; only took pauses and gave me an idiotic smile. “What a sweet sale this was!” he said. Placed the book next to me, turned me off and went into the other room.
A couple years later, the bulb in me fell sick. The electrical impulses in its brain escape the normal limit. He started to flicker like a.. well… a tube-light. “He is getting a seizure, he is getting a seizure!” I thought (because I have no mouth to yell). The bulb beeped on and off a couple of time and then with a loud pop took his last breath. Rajesh came running, turned the switch on and off a couple of time. I tell you, these humans assume re-starting is the solution to everything. Rajesh’s attempts at the bulb CPR failed, he was gone. I knew bulb ever since our days at the lighting store. Now he is gone and all I could thing was, ‘When bulbs die… do they see a light?’.
It took months before Rajesh replaced the bulb. He kept telling his wife he does not have the time. She tried to explain to him how it’s not that hard to get a bulb on the way back home. I agreed with Sheela, his wife. She was literally the better half in the relationship. She often told people who visit that I’m her favorite decorative. She pointed at me and said, “She lights up my life” and laughs in high pitch at her own mediocre sense of humor. But she was nicer to me than Rajesh.
There is a chatter in the air that Rajesh has got a new lamp. He places her on the bedside table. He now liked to read tucked into bed. Who reads on the bed?! A bed is to sleep, to call it a night. I can’t believe a younger newer lamp has replaced me. She is not even a table lamp. She stands on her own three feet and resembles a lighthouse. Technology has come a long way in eight years. I’m sick of being a table lamp.
My lampshade, which was a bright yellow in my youth is now a pale beige. A rag cloth smashed against me to clean the dust. I’m cleaned only when guests visit home. Landline and I are now lonely decorative in the north-western corner of the room. We have both aged in dog years and replaced by brighter versions of ourselves. It’s not like I never saw this day coming. When the couple watched TV in the living room. I often saw ads about the newer generation, I did not expect this day to come so fast. If there is no respect for me in the world anymore… why don’t they leave take me to the attic? I have no idea what an attic is, but I heard Sheela telling Rajesh she put Mr.Clock there. He stopped showing the right time and Rajesh got late to work every day. Landline and I had a great laugh at that every day.
Now the end is here. This is the last message I send out to any other lamps out there. The world is materialistic. When you still have a luster, all eyes look at you. When you don’t they call you words such as vintage and aged. When you still own your shine, spread the brightness. Don’t let people tell you what to be. Society might tell you: “be a microwave! Be a TV!”, but deep in your heart if you want to be a lamp… be the best lamp in the world.
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