Diary of an Alarm Clock

That idiot of a boy! He dropped me today in the morning while switching my alarm bell off and my glass was shattered. Thankfully his parents were prompt in taking me to the nearby repair shop owned by Mr. Shome, who is such a nice and caring man. He removed my the cracked part and replaced it with a brand new glass that looked like it was fresh out of the factory. My clogs and gears appeared to have suffered no damage as such, else my destination would have been the dumpyard. 

I was born about five years ago somewhere in Tamil Nadu. From the land of the Brave Raja Raja Chola, I was transported to the land of the great Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose—West Bengal. After being transferred to a warehouse, and from there to a shop in Kolkata’s New Market. Finally I found a home when an elderly lady bought me for two hundred rupees and took me home. That lady is the boy’s grandmother. 

By the time I got home today from Mr. Shome’s shop, rejuvenated, I was feeling less agitated and, for the first time, started to see the morning’s incident as an accident. I am kept on a window sill, next to the boy’s bed, from where I can see the outside. I really like looking at the sky through the glass-paned window—be it the vibrant blue of the winter or the gloomy and mysterious dark sky of the monsoon or the fluffy cotton-like clouds during autumn. The greenery around is somthing that soothes me as well—this kind of vegetation is not usually seen in cities. I sometimes talk with my friends—the walls. People say, ‘Walls also have ears!’ and they are absolutely right! Walls have big mouths too and it is sometimes a bit tiring to keep on talking to them but we’re good friends.

Sometimes I feel I was a bird. Looking at them from my place on the window sill, I can’t help but envy them, their swift movements, they way they glide as if they own the wind. I am quite sure they weigh more than me but the fact that they can still fly baffles me! I have thought of trying to do so but the walls have warned me saying, ‘You’ll travel downwards then go straight westwards.’ Actually the dumpyard lies to the west of here and I am truly scared of it so all my daredevil ideas were discarded.

As for the boy, I find him quite likable… sometimes when he’s writing. In fact it was his literary exploits that made me take up the pen—who is also quite a dear friend of mine.

However, now, the pen wants to rest and, anyway he returns from school soom. Thus, I wish you, my readers, Au revoir!