Autobiography of a Library Book
English Essay on "Autobiography of a Library Book"
My birth took place in a printing press but I was lying there in pieces. A book binder performed some painful operations on my scattered limbs. He used needles and threads and applied glue, and gave me the form of a book. A very attractive dust cover was wrapped around me and I was sent to a book-seller along with many of my sisters.
The book-seller kept me in a shelf but before I could, know of my surroundings, I was handed over at the counter to an old man who happened to be the librarian of a college. A number of other books and were tied together with a rope. It gave me pain but I could do nothing. The, librarian brought me to the college’ where his assistant released me from the bondage. I heaved a sigh of relief but the very next moment I found myself naked. The dust cover, which was my outer garment was removed by the assistant and thrown aside. A heavy hammer fell on me and I was branded.
Later I came to know that it was a rubber stamp who had left its mark on me was to live with this mark for the rest of my life. But the tale of my misery does not end here was given to a number of readers who did not care for my comfort. A student took me home and when it started raining on the way he covered his head with me. Heavy rain poured over me and my complexion was spoiled.educationsight.blogspot.com Another left me out in the open compound of his house in the scorching heat of June. The freshness of my appearance faded away and was no more beautiful and attractive. A young urchin who happened to be the brother of a student who had taken me out of the college library, tore away many of my beautiful photographs. Another studious boy disfigured me with .his pen by underlining scores of lines in every chapter. He spilled his inkpot over my face and I could never rub off this mark of shame.
Of course I have had admirers. My first reader was a professor who touched me with reference and handled me most delicately. He showed me to his ft lends and talked about me in a flattering tone. I remember a student whom I met two years ago. I was in a hopeless condition and many of my pages were falling. He spent full one hour in gluing the loose pages together and smoothing out the folds. But such readers were very few.
My last reader was a very mischievous student. He took me home and applied scissors to my body. He cut many pages out of my body. He wanted to make use of these in the examination ball. It was perhaps due to my ill wishes that he failed but when the result was declared, he came down upon me and threw down many books along with me on the floor. His mother rescued us otherwise be had made up his mind to send us to flames.
When I was taken back to the library, the clerk refused to accept me. He was fined but this was no consolation for me. I was put in a store with similar torn out and ill used books and journals.
One day a waste-paper dealer bought me and gave me to a shop keeper. I am now lying near his feet. Whenever any customer comes, he tears away a page of mine to wrap pepper, chilies and other spices. I am dying by inches. But I am not afraid of death. All living and lifeless things have to die one day. I am satisfied with my life. I have not lived long, but I am happy that I am serving a useful purpose even when I am dying.
The book-seller kept me in a shelf but before I could, know of my surroundings, I was handed over at the counter to an old man who happened to be the librarian of a college. A number of other books and were tied together with a rope. It gave me pain but I could do nothing. The, librarian brought me to the college’ where his assistant released me from the bondage. I heaved a sigh of relief but the very next moment I found myself naked. The dust cover, which was my outer garment was removed by the assistant and thrown aside. A heavy hammer fell on me and I was branded.
Later I came to know that it was a rubber stamp who had left its mark on me was to live with this mark for the rest of my life. But the tale of my misery does not end here was given to a number of readers who did not care for my comfort. A student took me home and when it started raining on the way he covered his head with me. Heavy rain poured over me and my complexion was spoiled.educationsight.blogspot.com Another left me out in the open compound of his house in the scorching heat of June. The freshness of my appearance faded away and was no more beautiful and attractive. A young urchin who happened to be the brother of a student who had taken me out of the college library, tore away many of my beautiful photographs. Another studious boy disfigured me with .his pen by underlining scores of lines in every chapter. He spilled his inkpot over my face and I could never rub off this mark of shame.
Of course I have had admirers. My first reader was a professor who touched me with reference and handled me most delicately. He showed me to his ft lends and talked about me in a flattering tone. I remember a student whom I met two years ago. I was in a hopeless condition and many of my pages were falling. He spent full one hour in gluing the loose pages together and smoothing out the folds. But such readers were very few.
My last reader was a very mischievous student. He took me home and applied scissors to my body. He cut many pages out of my body. He wanted to make use of these in the examination ball. It was perhaps due to my ill wishes that he failed but when the result was declared, he came down upon me and threw down many books along with me on the floor. His mother rescued us otherwise be had made up his mind to send us to flames.
When I was taken back to the library, the clerk refused to accept me. He was fined but this was no consolation for me. I was put in a store with similar torn out and ill used books and journals.
One day a waste-paper dealer bought me and gave me to a shop keeper. I am now lying near his feet. Whenever any customer comes, he tears away a page of mine to wrap pepper, chilies and other spices. I am dying by inches. But I am not afraid of death. All living and lifeless things have to die one day. I am satisfied with my life. I have not lived long, but I am happy that I am serving a useful purpose even when I am dying.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteUseless blog
ReplyDelete