Essay On Autobiography Of A Book
You must have read several autobiographies of great people. But today I am going to tell you my own story. I am a very old and worn-out book. I have gone through many good and bad phases during my lifetime. Today, I am lying down in this cupboard. There is nobody to look after me and to take care of me. Now that you have opened this cupboard for cleaning and arranging the books in proper order, I thought of speaking to you.
To begin with, I shall tell you about my birth. I was born in a small house in this city. A very renowned author used to stay there. He planned my story and started writing in a notebook every morning. After finalizing the contents, he took me to a publisher. The Publisher liked my subject and the contents in it and agreed to publish it. That was none other than me. I was printed in a very big printing house. A famous artist sketched a fine drawing that would suit my subject. That became my main front page. Then a hardbound cover was fixed on me. That had made me look very attractive. The author too was very happy to see my appearance. The publisher gave him the agreed amount.
After this, my long journey started. First of all, I was carried to a huge book shop. I was kept in a big cupboard. I enjoyed my stay there along with my friends. One day a person bought me and took me to his house. He liked my content and the subject. He read me several times. He also discussed me among his friends. His friends too read me eagerly and appreciated me. While traveling from one person to another, I stayed for many years with one of his friends. He never returned me to my owner.
This new owner never cared for me. I was lying in one corner of his house unattended. One day he just sold me off saying that I have become very old and torn. I came to this library after that. Again I was in limelight. Many enthusiastic readers read me and appreciated me. But as I was handled by many different people, I grew older and older. Now I am lying in this cupboard along with some other books of my age. Nobody dares to touch us thinking that we will be injured. Actually, I am suffocating because of the dust in this cupboard. The termites and worms have built their colonies between my pages. But who should I complain to? It’s so nice of you that you thought of removing the dust from my body. I am sure that I would get back to my old days of prosperity.
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