Essay : [Autobiography Of An Old Pair Of Shoes]
English Essay on "Autobiography Of An Old Pair Of Shoes"Autobiography Of An Old Pair Of Shoes
We were manufactured in a shoe factory in England. Our size was 11 12. We arrived in Malaysia in a large consignment for an Ipoh firm of general merchants. We disembarked at Penang and within a few days or our disembarkation; we were dispatched to our destination Ipoh. We were rather too large for the Malay and Chinese patrons of the firm, and our price was considered rather too high by the few Pakistani or European whose feet we did fit. Once in a while, an unusually tall fellow came in, made enquires about the pair of our size, inspected us, asked the price, shook his head, and marched out.
When we had been in Malaysia for six years, the manager of the firm decided to organize a 'Grand Cheap Sale'. I do not remember whether it was held on the eve of Christmas. We were among a large number of article$ offered for sale at reduced prices. A visiting Arab locked at the posters displayed in front of the shop and then at his feet. He decided .that his old shoes were no longer serviceable and walked in to buy a new pair. We were the only pair of shoes in the shop to fit his feet he bought us.
Our days of rest had come to an end. Our master put us on as soon as he had paid for us. With no feeling of gratitude whatsoever, he flung his old shoes into the dustbin outside the shop.(4essay.blogspot.com) We pinched his big here and there, but he did not complain about it at all. He was highly delighted at the creaking noise that we made under his weight. After a few weeks, we were quite at peace with our master. We stopped pinching his feet and did not creak any more.
Then, one day, a strange thing happened. Our master took us off before entering a mosque for his afternoon prayers. But instead of taking us off at the place meant for the purpose, he left us at the roadside, some distance from the mosque. A passer -by saw us and thinking that somebody had forgotten us, took us home. His own feet were too small for us, but he soon found a customer for us, a tall tin-mining laborer. Our new master did not mind a few pounds of mud sticking to his legs how therefore could we expect him to clean us or polish us up Our end was approaching steadily if slowly.
After a few months experience of the life at the tin-mine, we began to crack here and there. But our ruthless master never cared to take LIS to a cobbler for the necessary repairs. Ultimately, when we were no longer able to contain his feet, he gave us to this cobbler. He cuts off bits of us whenever he needs some leather to patch up the holes in the shoes that are daily brought to him for repairs. At this rate we do not expect to last very long.
When we had been in Malaysia for six years, the manager of the firm decided to organize a 'Grand Cheap Sale'. I do not remember whether it was held on the eve of Christmas. We were among a large number of article$ offered for sale at reduced prices. A visiting Arab locked at the posters displayed in front of the shop and then at his feet. He decided .that his old shoes were no longer serviceable and walked in to buy a new pair. We were the only pair of shoes in the shop to fit his feet he bought us.
Our days of rest had come to an end. Our master put us on as soon as he had paid for us. With no feeling of gratitude whatsoever, he flung his old shoes into the dustbin outside the shop.(4essay.blogspot.com) We pinched his big here and there, but he did not complain about it at all. He was highly delighted at the creaking noise that we made under his weight. After a few weeks, we were quite at peace with our master. We stopped pinching his feet and did not creak any more.
Then, one day, a strange thing happened. Our master took us off before entering a mosque for his afternoon prayers. But instead of taking us off at the place meant for the purpose, he left us at the roadside, some distance from the mosque. A passer -by saw us and thinking that somebody had forgotten us, took us home. His own feet were too small for us, but he soon found a customer for us, a tall tin-mining laborer. Our new master did not mind a few pounds of mud sticking to his legs how therefore could we expect him to clean us or polish us up Our end was approaching steadily if slowly.
After a few months experience of the life at the tin-mine, we began to crack here and there. But our ruthless master never cared to take LIS to a cobbler for the necessary repairs. Ultimately, when we were no longer able to contain his feet, he gave us to this cobbler. He cuts off bits of us whenever he needs some leather to patch up the holes in the shoes that are daily brought to him for repairs. At this rate we do not expect to last very long.
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