My Life In My Own Words: Autobiography of Mr. S

When I heard that autobiographies are the in books this season, I thought of writing one too. While working on this project, I realized that this way not only will I be leaving an imprint on the tapestry of history, but also bequeathing a treasure of wisdom, enlightenment, and inspiration to the current and future generations.

Once upon a time I used to live a very colorful, bindaas, kick-ass life. I will tell you about it, as also how one evening it came to an abrupt end. Since then I have been living a saintly monogamous life. Of course, not out of choice. Being an inanimate object, I do not have a free will, nor am I complaining because even the most evolved animated bundles of atoms and molecules known as human beings seldom get to exercise their free will. Like us, most of them are brought into this world to be used by others and go on living according to the whims of the very same others.

I don’t exactly remember how I was born. When I grew conscious of my surroundings, I found myself tucked in a box with a few siblings. For many days, rather months, I thought the box was the whole world. And then one day, our world was shaken and torn apart and we were thrown into a bigger world to find many more spoons like us. We also discovered forks and knives and plates and napkins. Whoa!

Soon, I was being used by a variety of people—corporate officials, politicians, gangsters, kitty-partiers, members of small and big extended families, lovers, etc. etc. Thus I witnessed a lot of drama, and was privy to many a secret. Sometimes, I would attend a quiet dinner with dim lights and soothing music, at other time there would be a loud rambunctious party. I served regulars as well as first timers. They would scoop exotic curries and put me into their mouths. The mouths would taste different in the beginning, but eventually they were all same. Here I want to clarify that I never forced myself on anyone.

One day, I was attending to an average couple. After a lot of argument they ordered three or four dishes. With a big smile, the husband told the waiter that it was their marriage anniversary. Incidentally, I was with the wife. All the time while eating, they were correcting each other with comments like, 'Nobody holds a spoon like that,' 'Don’t slurp,' 'Sit properly,' 'This is supposed to be eaten after that,' 'Wipe your dirty face,' 'Can’t you eat without spilling?' I could sense tension. What I could not understand was whether they were fighting or celebrating.

When the dinner was over, the wife, madam GJ (I will use only initials to protect her identity) wiped me with a napkin and put me in her handbag. It was dark in there, and I remained confused for a long time.

When I saw the light again, I was washed lovingly by madam GJ, and placed proudly in her spoon holder.

I miss the good old days when I used to enter the mouths of many intriguing characters and also hear their fascinating stories. Sigh! You lose some you gain some. At my new home, there is not much drama, only slight tension during dinner time over minor issues such as burnt food (madam would assert it is just overcooked, not burnt) or an under-cooked dish (again, madam would claim it is nutritious.)

The good thing is that I have found individuality here. I am different from others and I am used exclusively by madam GJ. Sometimes, if by mistake, I am placed on the husband’s plate, he immediately pushes me away saying, “I don’t eat with stolen spoons.” That really hurts me. It is like calling a child born out of wedlock, illegitimate or a bastard, for absolutely no fault of his or her.

(Note: I will keep on updating this autobiography as the events keep unfolding for the benefit of mankind. Until then, Ciao!)

Modified from a picture on this page: wackystock.com