Essays Autobiography of a Coin, House on Fire, My Mother & The Postman
To view other Essays Click Here.
Autobiography of a Coin
I am now an old coin and have been in circulation for many, many years. I am worn out now and the lion’s head on my face is very faint. But I still remember my early youth when I was in the government treasury, with my bright companions.
I shone brightly then and the lion’s head glittered brightly. My active life began when I was paid out from the counter of a bank, along with other new rupees, to a gentleman who got a cheque encashed.
I gave out such a clear ringing note that he picked me up and threw me into a drawer along with a lot of other coins. I soon found we were in a mixed company.
I took notice of the greasy copper coins, as I knew they were of low caste; and I was condescending to the small change knowing that I was twice as valuable as the best of them, the fifty paise coins, and a hundred times better than the cheeky little paisa.
But I found a number of rupees of my own rank but none so new and bright as I was. Some of them were jealous of my smart appearance and made nasty remarks, but one very old rupee was kind to me and gave me good advice.
He told me I must respect old rupees and always keep the small change in their place. A rupee is always a rupee, however old and worn, he advised.
Our conversation was interrupted by the opening of the drawer, and I was given out to a young lady, from whose hands I slipped and fell into a gutter.
Eventually, a very dirty and ragged boy picked me up, and for some time thereafter that I was in very low company passing between poor people and small shopkeepers in dirty little streets.
But at last, I got into good society, and most of my time I have been in the pocket and purses of the rich. I have lived an active life and never rested for long anywhere.
A House on Fire
I had never seen a house on fire. So, one evening when I heard the roar of fire engines rushing past my house, I quickly ran out and a few streets away joined a large crowd of people.
But the police did not allow anyone to go near the building on fire. What a terrible scene I saw that day! Huge flames of fire were coming out of each floor and black and thick smoke spread all around.
The rushing water from several houses soaked the building, but it did not seem to have any effect on the flames. Thereafter firemen stretched upwards a huge ladder structure and I could see some fireman climbing up with hoses in their hands.
On reaching almost the top of the ladder, they began to pour floods of water on the topmost part of the building. The continuous flooding brought the fire under control but the building had by then been completely destroyed.
My Mother
My mother is a kind lady. She is very good at her behaviour. Everybody in the family likes her. She has many qualities of head and heart. She is highly educated and intelligent. She is very hard-working, kind, caring and loving. Her love for us has no limits
She is a housewife and ever busy. She gets up earlier than others and goes to bed last of all. She cooks food, washes our clothes, looks after our every need and comfort. She enjoys serving us. Sometimes, I feel sorry for her and help her in her work in my own humble way.
She prepares many delicious dishes for us. We can never forget her services and sacrifices. She is really great, wonderful, loving and kind. Nothing is so great as my mother. It has been rightly said that God could not be everywhere and therefore, he made mothers.
Nobody can ever repay the kindness of his or her mother. She is the first teacher or ‘guru’ of the child. Behind every great deed of a man, there is a mother.
There would have been no Quaid-e-Azam, no Allama Iqbal and no Liaqat Ali Khan if there were no mothers
If my mother falls ill, there is disorder in the house. Everybody is ill at ease. It is like a disaster for all of us. We always pray for her health and happiness. My mother is really a jewel and I love my mother.
The Postman
A postman is a well-known person. He is a public servant. He works in the post office. He delivers letters, money orders, parcels, greeting cards, etc. from door to door and street to street. His services are very important.
People wait for his knock on the doo.r He is always welcome. The postman wears a khaki uniform and carries a bag full of letters, etc. He collects letters from letterboxes. Then they are sent through the mail-vans and trains to the addresses at different places.
He brings greetings and good wishes cards. Sometimes there may be a piece of unwelcome news. But again it is important because it concerns us. The news is news, whether good or bad and must be communicated.
The duties of a postman are difficult. These are more difficult for a postman working in a village. He has to cover long distances on foot, bicycle or sometimes on can boats. Sun or rain, freezing cold or scorching heat, he is on his duty.
But he is poorly paid. His salary is meagre. He has poor chances of promotion. His work conditions and pay should be raised. He should be provided with government accommodation. His children should be given better opportunities for education and training.
He should also be insured as he has to face dangerous situations. In far-flung rural areas, he has to cross rivers and thick forests When he carries money orders, his risks increase all the more.
He deserves our sympathy and regard. He has very few holidays and his hours of work are long and difficult We must give him better treatment and salary.
