An Autobiography Of A Coin&#; Paragraph Writing
Points : [ Introduction &#; glorious birth in a mint &#; description of physical features &#; journey to a bank – to other places &#; change of hands and experiences &#; conclusion.]
I am a five rupee coin. Unlike other, my colour is golden. I was born in a mint and thrown into a big sack with lots of other coins. Then one day, I was sent off to a bank. After a few days I was handed over to a fat man along with some other notes and coins. He brought me home and handed me to his only son. The little boy, seeing my golden colour and lustre, took a fancy to me. He held me gently, turned me a few times and kept me in his pencil box. Every day I used to go to his school with him. He never spent me. I liked his company as he took good care of me. He used to show me to his friends with pride. I also felt proud as they praised my look. One day a poor little girl came to my owner and begged for food. The girl looked very weary and hungry. She was so hungry that she could not even walk. My owner did not have any money to give her other than me. He was a kind-hearted boy and handed me to the poor beggar. Although I was sad that I pa
Autobiography of a Coin
I was born in the fires of an ancient forge in the hills of the Hindu Kush. Amid the clatter of hammers and the chatter of Greek, I paused on a battered anvil for the final pangs of my creation. Beneath me lay a hardened die bearing the image of my king; atop me pressed another, etched with horsemen and some mirror-image words. Then the hammer struck, hard and heavy, ringing out the news of my nativity. With each blow the dies dug deeper into my flesh, stamping their images as father and mother of a freshly minted coin.
As I look back across two millennia for these earliest memories, I marvel at my long, now legendary, journey from mine to mint to market to museum. I remember Rome as a rising power, a century before the first Caesars; I recall the early days of Emperor Asoka's moral conquests and the building of China's Great Wall. I have outlived six of the seven wonders of the ancient world. (I am told the Great Pyramid still stands.) Yet I am no mute ruin: Money talks. Mine is the voice of history, recorded by numismatists trained to hear my ancient stories of art, industry, worship, and war. My eloquence can turn back time, and carry us all to the
In this article, I&#;ll show you an example of an autobiography writing of a one rupee coin.
I used to just have a big scrap of metal before I got the name Coin. I did not always look like this. I used to look like a pale, metallic sheet that does not have an appealing shape.
All my ancestors looked like this. Everyone was pale and everyone was just a piece of metal. People used to cut my ancestors, use them for various purposes but they would never value them.
After the metal rots, they would throw it away and buy a new one. We were only used but never seen, never respected, never loved. Then one day, late in the B.C, we were shaped by humans and we were given certain value to us.
Ever since then, all our relatives, be it copper, gold or silver, some of us got transformed to beautiful round shapes that carried a value people longed to have in their pockets. We were transformed from mere, ugly looking metals to coins.
Just like my ancestors, I was dug up from the ground by humans. A big, heavy, shapeless, ugly piece of rock was converted into money. Money is something that everyone loves and craves for.
When I was first
Autobiography Of a Coin for Class ,Std 5,6,7 | School Essay
This essay (Autobiography On a Coin) is fit for school students of class 5,6, or 7. Students of higher class are requested to suggest us to improve this autobiography on coin.
I was born in a mint near Mumbai. I am twelve years old and I was sent to Kolkata from Mumbai. You know, who I am. Guess, I am a two rupees coin. I am telling you the days that I nearly spent. When I was made I was shining but a man; who was carrying me, fell me down. I was sad. No one saw me and without seeing me they kept leg on me and went away. Soon my shine also had gone away. Days were passing like this and I was getting hurt in same brutal way. But one day a girl&#;s eyes fell on me. She took me in her hand and kept me in her pencil box. Her name was Smita. This new place was nice, cool, safe and better for me. I lived there very comfortably. I passed two to three days in this box . Whenever Smita used to open her pencil box she used to see my smiling. After seeing me, she was thinking something in her mind. One day Smita got a five rupees coin. She kept the coin beside me. Now I had a friend; with whom I
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