Write an autobiography of a desk in a classroom please help soon ......
Answers
I am a very old desk. I have a long life history. It is full of happy as well as sad moments. There came times when I was happy and sometimes I was upset too.
Initially, I was just a log. I was cut along with a lot of other trees. Then we were loaded in a huge truck and taken to a factory, where we were given shape and made into huge desks. We were painted all over and were smelling of new paint. We were shining and looking very good. Then again we were loaded in a truck. This time we were taken to a large building which was the biggest school in our city.
I was proud to be a desk of this school. I was placed in a cold, damp room, beside a window. It seemed that the room was not opened for at least one month. Next day, a happy lot of girls entered the room. Two well mannered girls kept their school bags upon me. They both sat upon me and studied the whole year. They enjoyed sitting together and took great care of me.
But, next year came the naughty ones. They all jumped upon us, scratched us with compass and we felt severe pain. After each and every year came the naughty, naughtier and the naughtiest one. They started to hurt us in various ways and we got uglier day by day.
Now, I lay with all the other desks in a dark and cold attic, with scratches all over, wanted by no one. We don’t know where we will go, where is our destination. But, I still do miss the very first lot of children, specially the first two girls who shared a year with me.
may this help u
Explanation:
I can safely call myself the oldest member of Ray family. Yes, I am the mahogany writing desk that has adorned the corner of the big drawing room of the Ray family. Newly made from the Mahogany tree from the sprawling garden of the affluent family, I was brought into their household more than hundred years back. little did I realize that i would be able to witness history being recreated before my eyes.
Somshankar Ray, my then sister, used me to write novels. I have seen him awake till late each night, working at his novels and scribbling away on reams and reams of paper. tired and exhausted, often he would fall asleep in me after midnight. as he grew old and sick, his son Siddhartha Ray started using me for writing declarations and protests against British rule. he was a true revolutionary, raging a war against the British rule. I have witnessed many meetings being held in the Ray household, my plans and plots being discussed. Siddhartha's son Sudip was an architect par excellence. soon he became my new master and I saw him spending hours sketching blue prints of beautiful architectural designs while working at me. my able body always gave him the required support and company. His little son often climbed in my back and used me as his playground and blackboard alternately.
however, gone are these days of joy and sense of fulfillment. Now I am dusting in this big house along with other old pieces of furniture as my company. Sudip's son is a successful man settled abroad and hardly ever visits his paternal house. but the last time he came, I had overheard him speaking to an auctioneer. Probably my future lies in an auction house!