Today, I lie in a box of old and damaged watch parts owned by a repair dealer. I no longer work and nobody seems interested in me. Still, I feel proud when I think about the wonderful days of my past.

I was made in a watch factory in Switzerland about fifteen years ago. My body was decorated with twenty-one jewels and my bright golden dial had glowing figures that could be seen in the dark. My delicate yet valuable mechanism was protected by a rolled-gold case. After leaving the factory, I was sent to a well-known watch showroom along with many other fine watches. There, I was displayed proudly in a glass case. People from different walks of life visited the shop every day.

One day, an elderly professor noticed me. I was carefully packed in a velvet box and sold to him for one thousand rupees, which was considered a large amount in those days. The professor took me home with great pride. He looked after me very well. I accompanied him to college, seminars, cultural programmes and educational events. Wherever I went, people admired me.

As the years passed, I began developing problems. Whenever one fault was repaired, another appeared. Slowly, I became less reliable. My master started losing interest in me and often left me lying around because I was no longer as useful as before.

One day, he placed me on a stack of newspapers. His grandson accidentally pulled one of them and I fell to the floor. Before anyone noticed, I was crushed under his feet and damaged beyond repair.

Since I was of no use anymore, my master handed me over to this dealer of watch parts. And here I remain today, quietly waiting for my final days.