This Autobiography is Formatted For Class 5 | Class 6 | Class 7 | Class 8 | Class 9 | Class 10 | Class 11 | Class 12
I am a shield for some and a matter of distress for others. While some start smiling when they meet me, others start crying and wailing.
I live a life with a daily routine.
Every morning, I am straightened out with the help of my friend, The iron. He starts heating up every morning, waiting for me by the window sill. The moment the stringent Mr. Clock strikes 5:30, I am picked up from the pile of clothes kept on the famous chair and stretched across the iron board, ready to be pressed into shape.
Once done, I am made to stay on the hanger and kept into the clothing rack, ready to be worn.
Then comes my owner, ready to put on his suit of armor for the day. At this point in time, I feel euphoric as I know that in a short while of time I will get to get a glimpse of the outside world once again. He takes me apart and puts me on a piece by piece from top to bottom.
As he eats his breakfast, I hold my breath and watch with fear. Fear of being stained, fear of being scrubbed and scrubbed and then being thrown away to help clean and wash the house. Brr. What a nightmare that would be.
I heave a sigh of relief as he manages to finish his huge meal of milk and cornflakes without once dropping anything on me. A sense of victory and happiness engulfs me as I realize how well I help to mold this child into a man.
Finally, as the time approaches, we step out of the house waiting for the gigantic school bus to arrive. And within the span of a few minutes, it zooms into the side lane by our house.
As we step in, I greet my fellow passengers, skirt, shirt, tie, and socks. While some stay up to chat with others, some other dose off into a deep sleep, waking up every time the bus jolts into consciousness.
Finally, after a long time, we reached our destination, the fearful institution known as school. Here, every morning, we are observed under strict regulation to check whether we are straightened enough and pressed into perfection. Most days, I am. But one day, my collar was not scrubbed well enough and that led to my owner getting a huge round of scolding.
He came home crying later that evening, asking why was I not made white enough. After that day, I have been scrubbed daily with a cleaning brush to get rid of all the suds and dirt every evening. But thankfully today, I was categorized to be perfectly fine and was found without any faults.
I beamed with pride as I noticed some other acquaintances being reprimanded for not showing up to school in a presentable format. As the day goes on, I progressively get dirtier and spoiled. He drops some of his friend’s Maggi onto my shirt and spills some water on me when trying to drink out of his bottle during maths class. I sigh and watch helplessly as he goes about the rest of his day.
Towards the end of the day, I am on the verge of losing my patience when a calamity befalls us. My owner, out of fun decided to play with some of his friends on the football ground. And while running around in circles, again and again, he lost his balance, fumbled up his footing and crash-landed onto the muddy ground in a dizzy.
Imagine my horror as he stood up and I realized that I doused thoroughly with brown mud from top to bottom. Although he laughed it off, he realized the gravity of the situation on his way home and he started crying as he realized I would be taken away from him and thrown. While he was crying, I tried my best to clean myself by scrubbing and scraping the mud on the seat covers and floor.
I trembled in fear as he approached the door to our house as I imagined the harrowing sight of my future. Just as I predicted, the moment the elder of the owner saw me, she yelled out a string of words. She instructed him to take me off and hand me over to her as soon as possible. Throughout the time he took to get out of me, I kept imaging about my afterlife and counting the good and bad deeds I had done in life.
When the elder came and collected me from off the floor, I was waiting for her to throw me into the dreaded dustbin. But to my surprise, she cleaned me out, washed me in the washing machine’s gut and then proceeded to drop me off at the charity bin, far away from the ones I had started to think of as my family. After a few days, I am picked out of the bin and I am packed inside a box with some other strangers.
I am surrounded by darkness and other clothes inside a box and we seem to be moving to someplace. After a while, the movement stops. Our box is being moved again but at a much slower pace than before. And then after a while, the cover finally opens and I am being pulled out of the box and moved between different people.
I feel like no one wants me as I get shifted from one pair of hands to another. There are people fighting for socks and hats, but no one wears a mud-stained white shirt. After a while, I'm being taken away and placed back into the pile and it makes me feel like I have no use to anyone.
Then, after a very long time, some small hands pick me up from the pile. I am worn but I seem to be too big for the new owner. However, the tiny hands do not open my buttons anymore and just holding on to me while running away.
I am a little confused at first because whenever I have been either too big for someone or too small for them, then I usually am kept at the back of the wardrobe and then used again in a few years, but for the first time, despite being way too smaller than me, I have been holding onto and that makes me feel special. As I feel the wind on my face and myself hanging loosely from the child’s frame, I know that finally, I have found me forever.
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