MUSINGS OF SOLITUDE

Autobiography of an umbrella

An umbrella is a folding canopy supported by wooden or metal ribs that is usually mounted on a wooden, metal, or plastic pole. It is designed to protect a person against rain or sunlight. It does little against strong winds. There are several types of umbrellas available in the market, depending on size, colour, material and ability to be folded. Some are cheap while others are expensive. Some can be bought at discount stores while others are unique designer models. Handmade umbrellas are known for having long-lasting durability. A famous craftsman who goes by the initials of K.C., carefully selects the fabric and stitches them intricately on to the metal frame. He has many disciples. I was being made by his favourite apprentice, cum son.

K.C. Jr. finished weaving me together and opened me. I spread my sleek black umbra over his head. He rotated me, examining each nook and cranny. He closed and opened me several times to make sure I worked properly. He took a few more minutes to complete the stitches on me and I was done. He packed me up in a cardboard box. It was cramped in there. I wanted to extend my metal limbs and enjoy the air. The box was otherwise clean and smelled good. I was shipped out in a few days. I reached the store within a week. I was put on display soon after. I was so excited. I looked around. There were so many umbrellas. They came from all over the place. They looked so nice. I looked so nice. The shop owner was a chirpy old fellow who had two relatively young helpers to run the store. The store was small but spacious. Only the best umbrellas were laid out for the customers to buy. And proudly, I was one of them. I was priced too much for a mere black umbrella, a rude customer remarked one day. I was shocked. I wasn't a mere black umbrella. It was his fault that he could not see my worth. But that incident sent me on a downward spiral. Ghastly thoughts of never being bought and used started to haunt me. It was a nightmare living through every waking moment. No one could cheer me up. My colour described my gloomy emotions perfectly.

One rainy afternoon, a boy took shelter with his mother just outside our store. They were drenched. They were considering buying a new umbrella for the monsoon. They came in. The boy looked around in excitement. He was jumping with joy. His mother couldn't control him. And I couldn't help but smile. But I also knew I don't match the profile befitting the customer. They usually go for something fancy and cheaper. They talked at the counter. The young man proceeded to show them some good sturdy umbrellas. They were not impressed. I could hear them asking for a better product. Shortly after, the mother chose a rainbow coloured small umbrella for the small human being, her son. She wanted to buy another one for her husband. The shop helper led them to my rack. He picked me up and handed to her. She asked for something which has a handle with better grip. That's a ridiculous demand but nonetheless the shop helper had to comply. I was beyond disappointed. He put me aside. After browsing through a few more, the mother was not satisfied. The son was getting impatient. His excitement turned to irritation. He wanted to leave. He was missing his daily dose of evening cartoon. In exasperation, she picked me up and requested to be gift wrapped. I was still processing the new development. I couldn't believe my fate. I made my way back into a box gladly. The smell of cardboard never made me happier.

A day passed by, my wait came to an end. I could hear some rustling as the wrapping around my box was removed wildly. I was soon exposed by a middle-aged man. He smiled at me. He took me out. I looked around. It was a birthday celebration. I was a birthday present. There were cake and food, balloons and decorations. All were in a jolly mood. I saw two familiar faces standing beside the man. I realised that he was the father. I found shelter in a loving family. He treated me well. He used me exclusively for rain, never for sun. He took good care of me. The mother sometimes borrowed me for sun since I was black and blocked light well, unlike her umbrella. I was kept in closet with two others of my kind, one of which was the young kid's umbrella bought alongside me. The mother's umbrella was old and required extensive repair. I wondered why she did not buy one for herself and continued to use that one. Her umbrella told us stories about the lovely nuclear family we were serving. They were generous people. I was happy to be part of their lives. One day, the father found mother's umbrella while searching for his own. He saw its poor condition. He picked it up. He examined it, kept it back and procured his umbrella. That evening, a new umbrella was introduced to us. W e welcomed the gorgeous young brand new white colour smooth textured average sized beauty, supposed to be the mother's new umbrella. It was a present from the father. Her old umbrella cried in the corner. We pitied her. At the end of the day, we are all disposable commodities. We were to be dumped as soon as we are unable to suffice our purpose. That night, we spent consoling the old tattered umbrella.

The next morning, it was raining heavily. The father carried me to the way to his office. I protected him diligently. I was big enough to cover both his shoulders. I was proud of myself. He reached on time. He spread me across the store room to dry. There were some more umbrellas around me. I met another black umbrella who looked just like me. On further query, I found out that the umbrella was forged by K.C. Sr. himself. I was in awe. That umbrella was like an elder sibling I never had. We connected immediately. Time passes away so fast. Around evening, people started picking up their respective umbrellas and leaving for home. I was waiting for my master. I had a fun day. I couldn't wait to go home and share my experience with others. I waited patiently. A lady in late twenties came in. She looked around for her umbrella. She was confused for a moment. Then she picked me up and left. I protested hard. She paid no heed. She was probably mistaken and I prayed that she would realise it before it was too late. She seemed like a gentle lady with good manners. She was no thief. The other umbrella, my look-alike, might have been hers. She crossed the street to reach the cab stand. I easily sheltered her slender body. It wasn't so bad. After all, I was going to a new home. But was I?
She saw a homeless man begging by the dark alley. He was soaked to the bone, shivering. She placed me over his head. He held me tenderly with his dirty hand. He smiled weakly. She smiled back warmly. A few hours later, rain subsided. He let me dry by his side. I saw nothing around which remotely looked like a home. I could not believe the condition he lived in. I had no home. I had no shelter. He stood up and stretched his body. At that moment, a strong wind blew me away. I couldn't get hold of anything to stop myself from flying. The mother was right all along about my weak grip. The wind stopped shortly after and I landed up in a local dump yard. It smelled horrible. That night was the worst of my life. What I didn't know was that it was also my last. The very next morning, in the early hours, I was mercilessly crushed to death by a trash compactor.

Umbrellas have been known to be the single most effective device against rain and sun alike. Their elegant design, sleek structure, affordable prices and enormous varieties make them a must-have amenity for every household. Their canopy protect people against summer and monsoon seasons worldwide. Umbrellas are now a consumer product with a large global market. Patents related to them are very common because of their simple outline. They have been manufactured to serve in special circumstances including withstanding strong winds, being wearable hats, golf umbrellas, or to fit in small spaces and many more. Though, handy gadgets, umbrellas continue to shield us from the brutal natural forces everyday.