The Broom That Refused to Bend

Once upon a time, there was a brand-new broom who thought he was no ordinary broom.
He would stand proudly in the corner, chest out, bristles fluffed, and declare:
“I am the Shah Rukh Khan of sweeping! Look at my tall, straight figure! Other brooms bend and look crooked, but I— I am a gentleman broom, a hero broom, a superstar broom!”

The dust bunnies under the sofa burst into giggles.
One of them whispered, “This fool doesn’t know anything… The straighter he stays, the longer we get to live!”
Another added, “Quick! Someone get the confetti! Tonight, we celebrate our safety!”

And just like that, the dust organized a secret party.
Sneezes became their music (“Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!” on beat), cockroaches turned into DJs scratching on old biscuit wrappers, ants served samosas the size of bread crumbs, and a spider even did stand-up comedy.

One morning, the maid stormed in. She picked up the proud broom.
The broom puffed up. “At last! Today is my blockbuster debut. Watch me sweep away everything in style!”

But as soon as she pushed the broom under the sofa, the broom stiffened like a soldier at a parade.
“Excuse me!” it shouted. “I don’t bend. I have dignity. Try the ceiling fan instead—it’s more my height.”

The dirt laughed. The cockroaches did moonwalk. The maid sneezed.
Nothing was cleaned.

Fed up, the maid threw the stiff broom back into the corner like a cricket bat after a batsman gets out on zero.
She grabbed the old, bent broom.

This old broom wasn’t glamorous. Its bristles were uneven, its handle scratched, and it squeaked like an old man with arthritis.
But the moment it started sweeping, it bowed low like a seasoned dancer doing a Kathak step.

It slipped under the sofa, behind the cupboards, inside every dark corner where dust had been chilling for years.
The cockroaches screamed, “Abort mission! Retreat!” and sprinted for their lives.
The dust bunnies scattered like confetti in a storm.
The spider dropped its mic mid-joke and disappeared into the drain.

The house sparkled. The maid was pleased.

Meanwhile, the stiff broom sulked in the corner like a rejected Bollywood villain.
“But… but… I look better!” it whimpered.

The old broom chuckled and said,
“Looks don’t clean floors, darling. To wipe out dirt, you’ve got to bend a little. Flexibility beats fashion every time.”

From that day on, the stiff broom tried to bend. But every time it did, it complained loudly:
“OW! My bristles! My back! Someone call a carpenter!”

The Sweeping Lesson

Standing tall all the time may look impressive, but it’s useless if the dirt under the sofa is laughing at you. Pride may keep your back straight, but it won’t keep your house clean.

The old bent broom teaches us that flexibility wins. You don’t lose your dignity by bowing a little—you gain the power to chase away the cockroaches.

In life, too, if you’re too stiff with your “I’ll never bend” attitude, don’t be surprised when problems, like dust bunnies, build a shopping mall under your nose. But when you bend, you sweep them out with style.

In short:
Sometimes, you must bow—not to surrender, but to sweep away nonsense. And trust me, nothing respects you less than dust that refuses to leave.