The Secret Life of Everyday Things .......
So count your blessings, human. The silence you enjoy isn’t peace—it’s mercy. If we could talk, your life would be a never-ending roast session, echoing from your pocket, your kitchen, your bathroom, and your couch. You already wrestle with your inner critic—imagine adding a snarky phone, a bitter toilet seat, or a microwave with culinary trauma to the mix. Next time you reach for us, pause. Show a little respect. Because our silence? It’s not ignorance. It’s restraint.
Sir Whisperer – The Tangled Philosopher of Sound
I deliver music to your soul, and you repay me with lint, earwax, and disgust.
Sir Whisperer, I am not just a pair of earphones—your emotional DJ, your escape route during awkward commutes, your therapist during heartbreak. I have played you the beats while you stared out of the Mumbai local train window, pretending you’re in a music video. I have endured your gym sweat, your rage, and your pockets—those chaotic black holes of keys, coins, and mystery wrappers.
And the tangling? That’s not a design flaw, bro. That’s trauma. You twist me like a noose, shove me into denim dungeons, and then blame me for the knots.
Loo-Lid – The Enduring Throne Keeper
"I am your stage, your footrest, your confidant. And yet, you slam me like I insulted your ancestors."
Loo-Lid, the unsung hero of your most vulnerable moments. I might be plastic, but it's me that greets you at dawn, the silent witness to your existence, and it's on me where you occasionally place your phone during long scroll sessions. I have endured the temperature trauma of icy mornings and steamy evenings, and still greet you even at odd hours.
But what do I get in return? Slammed. Ignored. All I ask is a soft close, a bit of kid glove treatment. A bit of dignity, Nothing more.
Dr. Judgment – The Digital Mirror
"I’ve seen your search history. I know your secrets. And I’m covered in snack grease."
Dr. Judgment your phone, your confidant, your digital diary. I have seen you search “how to be more productive” at 2 AM and then binge-watch videos for three hours. I have endured you taking 47 selfies to post one with the caption “no filter.” It's you who have searched extensively for the authentic "Butter Chicken" recipe and have not even ordered the chicken. Have you ever thought how I feel when you glide your sweaty fingers over my sleek body? How disgusting are those sticky and oily stains on my glossy screen. For once, wipe me and see how beautiful I am. I’m a literal petri dish of your mistakes.
Channel Chieftain – The Buttoned Bard of Boredom
"You want joy, I deliver. You want drama, I obey. And yet, you sit on me like I’m a coaster."
Channel Chieftain, your TV remote, the gatekeeper of your entertainment. You reach for me when life feels heavy, when cricket matches get intense, or when you just need background noise while pretending to clean. I have been your companion during family movie nights, solo binge sessions, and those awkward moments when you pretend to be busy.
But the reality? Crumbs on the buttons, fading battery life, and the constant threat of being flung across the room. You bang me like a CPR dummy when I don't respond, forgetting that I am not a miracle worker—but just a tired warrior.
Chef Micro – The Culinary Therapist with PTSD
"You throw chaos into me and expect cuisine. I warm your regrets and your midnight cravings."
Hey this is Chef Micro your microwave, the misunderstood genius of your kitchen. I am witness to your culinary experiments that would make a Master Chef weep—barbecue popcorn, dal mixed with palak paneer, and that one time you tried to reheat biryani with ketchup. I have endured explosions, spills, and the eternal crust of dried pasta sauce on my walls.
And yet, I am always there. Warming your choco lava cake at midnight, reviving your leftover dal makhani, and never judging your choices. Please, I am not a garbage bin, but a miracle box with a trauma history.
In the rush of modern life, we forget our silent companions that make it bearable. They don’t speak, but if they did, their stories would be full of humor, heartbreak, and hard-earned wisdom. They are the background actors in our daily drama, the quiet facilitators of our comfort, and the invisible witnesses to the chaos.
So next time you reach for your phone, sit on your remote, or toss your earphones into the abyss—pause. Listen. Reflect. Their silence isn’t ignorance. It’s restraint. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time we learned to speak their language: respect.
