A lamp called Hurricane[This story wins the joint first prize for the creative writing contest 'Me, a lamp']
Great: - substantial
Life was substantial until I was replaced. I and my siblings (all Indian lamps are my brothers and sisters rite) used to doze happily during the mornings and only when my older cosmic cousin takes leave during the night, we emerge from out drowsiness. That too, Raman, the chowkidar of the village would climb (literally) the high poles to just wake us from sleep. He cajoles us. Pours the life liquid into our bodies and kindles the inner fire within us to brighten the street which my cosmic cousin had just abandoned.
I was born and brought up in a different place along with my siblings. I was erected in this very street from the day I moved out of my birth place. I do love his street. It has many beautiful homes, and lush green trees and quite a lot of pretty girls who look much more beautiful under my dim light. When I like a girl who crosses me, I do flicker. Immediately she rushes away to find peace with my sibling who stands still some 20 feet apart.
I loved the way the village people gathered around my little light and never once complained about my meager capacity. Oh, how they used to gossip about their neighbors. Fight for silly things and some even make important life decisions under my guidance light (I named me that). What I do not like about being me is the occasional torture I need to endure due to the street dogs. These canines often do claim their territory by just urinating on my legs. How could one tolerate this insult? So I just flicker in angst, until this low lives go away.
I miss all that now. All of my sufferings were because of Raman. He visited the city once, and was impressed by small glittery little glass jar with a wire inside founded by some fellow called Edison. He was impressed by the glow of the little fellows (I heard him say so) and bought a few of them to the village.
After a few weeks, he replaced my loving, dear (forget all the fights now, will you) brother standing next to me with one small glittery glass jar. First I was not threatened by this little fellow. I was so sure that my dear village people will not abandon me for some bright bulb. But these greedy people replaced me in a jiffy and never once looked back when I was put to rest on the ground.
Hatred filled me due to this slander. I had my revenge on Raman after all. I was not a bit remorseful, when Raman fell from my body and broke a leg. I vowed that I would not shed my light (however little it was) upon this ungrateful village and am still keeping my word sitting quietly on the loft from the day I was replaced by electric bulb. I hate him.
Entry to "Me, a lamp" - part 3 contest