05 June, 2013

Unheard voices ...

(Pic courtesy : problogger.net via Google)
We whisper, our voices hushed and muted.  We do not want the people around us to hear.  We moan about our existence and the mundane things we are subjected to, day in and day out.  The mood is dark because we know the weekend is approaching.  Weekends are, by any measure, the worst.  We would have many many more people to entertain, to service.
“There is no way out of this, is there ?” asks the young one, a recent addition to our group.  “Look, little one” said one of the oldest, wisest members of the group, the one with the wise, warm eyes that said “I know what life is all about.  I've seen way more of life than you have.  We have been born to service people and that is what we shall have to do, until such time that we grow old and useless.  People will then replace us with other nubile, sleek, sexy younger ones, hitherto untouched.  Get used to it” said the wise one. 
“But …but … that’s not fair …." spluttered the young one, voice rising in indignation, anger clouding judgement.   "Ah !  the brashness of youth !” said the wise one as the other older ones nodded in agreement. 
The youngster was, by now, near tears but wouldn’t let the tears flow.  The youngster, voice bristling with anger and outrage said “I don’t like it when so many people press down upon me .  I hate it.  I feel smothered.  I hate to be overpowered and used against my will”. The youngster hiccupped, choking down the sobs that were threatening to erupt.  Tears began to flow as the youngster piped in between sobs “I don’t want to service them.  I don’t want them to use me like this”. 
The older ones looked at each other, sympathy and warmth evident in their eyes, for they too had been through the same journey.  They too had started off young and fresh and after having served so many different people, were now all jaded and worn out.  Their job had taken its toll on them over the years.  They knew their masters were insensitive.  There had been so many instances when someone or the other in the group had had hot water or boiling hot tea or coffee poured on them.  It hurt.  It hurt bad.  There had been many instances when their masters had swapped them amongst each other.  There had been many times when they had been banged against walls, thrown around, stepped on – yet, at the end of it all, they knew they were still fated to serve their masters as long as they were in the house.  
“The irony of it all” the wisest one spoke in a quiet voice “is that people think we do not have feelings.  Fact remains that we do.  We do. ”
The other remote controls in the basket all nodded in unison, seeking solace in the mute comfort that only they could afford each other.

This was a writing prompt I just randomly picked up from one of the sites on the internet.  The prompt said “write from the point of view of a TV remote”.  Set me thinking, this one.  I mean, how many times a day do we just nonchalantly reach out for the remote and then toss it back in the basket once we’re done watching a TV programme or a DVD ?  Do we even give it a second thought ?  This brought me to the question of how things would be if remote controls had feelings.  Thus were planted the seeds of thought in my mind which germinated and grew into this post.
 

1 voice(s) said so:

Diwakar Narayan said...

Nice choice of this post. Remote Controls having feelings! I feel sympathy for them. Maybe, next time I will handle them with more care :)