The Bedlamp story…



I had been meaning to click this bed lamp of mine since…God knows when!!! Every night I slept off in this rickety old town in the last two and a half years, this has been probably the last thing I saw as I signed off for the day. The steady & last beam of light for that evening…a reminiscence of the forthcoming day and its bag of wonders and different shades.

Every now and then I also get this feeling to go back to my school days when the english language teacher used to assign us an essay where we impersonated a thing or object like a train, a bus or stuff like that. May be that was the most sure shot way of firing the imagination. While conceptualizing this photo, it just hit me that why don’t I write this piece in the same manner as that old school essay from my fourth or fifth standard….to my utter horror, it is so much tougher today than may be say 20-25 years ago, imagination & creativity, both are at a premium and the bondage of having learnt a bit more of the language is too overpowering. May be the grind of daily life and enclosures of the career space have blocked that free run. However, I am going to give this a shot nevertheless no matter how ridiculous it sounds…

“Every day at 0545, a melodious voice wakes me up and I get switched on, as if the voice switched on my day for me…the melodious voice of a bollywood track which the soul lying besides me uses on his alarm. Why then I never see him wake up to welcome the day…a reticent expression bordering on the disappointment of losing the sleep is all I get for having lit up the new day for this guy…what a waste!!! Having realized the need for him to get “on the roll” and be “on the move”, my job is finished pretty soon. Switching me off seems to be such an arduous affair for this guy as he reconciles to his fate of having to switch on the main light signalling the beginning of a whole day of work lined up…probably a motley mix of the Good, Bad & Ugly.

Having said that, I must admit that the perks of getting up early are good for me, my job is soon done and I can rest till late in the evening again when for a brief moment of time, the same guy sits besides me, reflecting on the day gone by and makes a vague attempt to enjoy the moments of silence he achieved for himself. That’s it then, he switches me off and all is done for the day….good cosy corner, low work hours, getting to watch the motley crew sit and sleep besides me, what more could I want from my “electric life” filled with rather eclectic horizon of personalities.

It’s too cliched, so I am not going for the “run-of-the-mill” description of what I consume, how I live and what else I do. So many kids are doing a great job of describing it out there. However, for all the free time I get, I try finding out more about this human race which had invented me for their use and have evolved to do everything from writing an essay on me to attach their expressions and emotions. I find them through the few people who stay in my room and the friends who visit them.

Here’s this bunch of guys who live in the same room as I do since I have existed…each speaks a different language whether its the dialect or the opinion and yet they seem to be doing the same job. They are divided by the areas they belong to and the time periods for which they remain in my room and yet….come every morning they are in the same huddle and hum-drum.I see them in various moods but the one consistent with them is their stress which, never ceases to haunt them from multiple sides…if not from work than from home. Each time they switch me on in the middle of the night raising my hopes for excitement, it turns out to be them who are excited albeit the wrong way mostly…what did I miss?

Moving on, the housekeeper keeps on harping on my head every day hurriedly cleaning me up as he huddles through the room & cursing his luck to having to do this, thousands of miles from his home and loved ones…every now and then stealing a few moments on the TV searching his favourite channel of his lingo…reminded of home he can’t visit for months now…I pause.

The carpenter seems to be the happiest one as he clamours into the room with his list full of complaints that he needs to complete before the evening, he is in a hurry. As his phone rings in the middle of that very important door repair…he thunders into the phone about how busy he is and that he can talk freely about “it” only in the evening at “home”…I know the feeling

This is the place that I was opened from my packing into…this is the place I have always known I needed to be in…this is the place where I have welcomed all and said goodbyes feeling reassured of having been fixed to the sturdy walls…this is my home…the very place which the housekeeper and the occupants missed and carpenter rejoiced about, the place where I confidently sit assessing the souls passing by….

My life is very limited to the four walls and constant warmth of this room but the varied faces and their expressions who cross across the day makes me rejoice, I give them hope, comfort and something to work on…they count the beginning and the end of the day with me…I am the bedlamp, my story is short, crisp and to the point…unlike the humans who I see in so many different shades. I feel lucky as well as left out…I am never challenged to do more then what was written on my packing…these humans don’t come with one


3 Comments Add yours

  1. Chandra Gowda says:

    Excellent…………. do keep writing………..


  2. Smita says:

    So nice …just loved it ..n the last few lines …just felt the joy of not being challenged to do more than what s written …n these human …so true

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I loved the last part of this.


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