I am the most ubiquitous and conspicuous piece of furniture to occupy the dwelling, working, educational and recreational spaces of the creature called ‘homo sapiens’, and yet I am ignored and taken granted for. I perform a most irreplaceable function in a dutiful manner and without any complaint, in that I offer myself to the human being to rest his/her body. I come in many forms and sizes, though my essential shape remains the same, with padding or without. I mostly come in wood or iron, but some of my new fangled fashion conscious comrades also come in plastic, but whatever form I assume, I render humans great service and comfort.
I bear many an insult by the tiny tots and the brats of man, as they make their forays into the world of knowledge acquisition in their haloed educational institutions. Some of them take to defacing me with gleeful elan with their silly color pencils and crayons, though in this regard I am undoubtedly better placed than my more unfortunate companion, the desk who usually faces the brunt of their artistic expressions. I even become a play tool at the hands of over imaginative doting parents when they are celebrating their kid’s birthday, using me in their quaint games bearing quaint epithets like ‘Musical Chairs’ (presumably in an attempt to hide their real intentions of torturing me and my fellow comrades). We are lined up, backs facing one another as if in front a firing squad or a Spanish Inquisition. And the squeals and the screams of the little ones as they dance around us may be endearing to the parents, but are sheer agony to us. Even our legs are not spared as we are dragged from one place to another, our screeches of protest as we cling to the ground, unheard or ignored. By the time the party is over, most of us are in a pathetic state, our apparels(if we are adorned with any) shorn off us, a tear or cut here and there, and smudge marks of human foodstuff all over us.
Children and teens are even worse, who do not hesitate to kick me around as a football to vent their frustration. The more wild ones even use me as weapon during their appalling skirmishes bought on by raging hormones and yet others show scant respect by standing on me and smearing my face with the under print of their foul smelling shoes.
High-school kids and the more precocious collegians are no better, who place their legs and feet on my face, in an idyllic fashion as and when it suits them, as if my face were the natural resting place for their appendages. My arms become natural resting platforms for their writing paraphernalia and elbows, and even supports when the more romantically inclined of the species wish to pucker in sneak kisses behind the lecturer’s back. I even become a natural ‘sit-in’ when my faithful companion desk is not available, for their optical devices, laptops and projectors etc.
The office going human does not think twice...