I did'nt stop cursing them as I banged open the door to my mezzanine floor. Infuriated by the lesser mortals that I have to share my living space with, I cursed my life thinking how I would...and then, I saw it!
A Christmas tree put up on our table. Standing on a corner beside the heap of old, torn magazines and cover-stripped old books, just where the glass top refracted out the tube-light rays through the brown semi/quarter circles of teacup stains. Cheap, brightly colored paper balls, crowding the tapering top, with two red woolen Santas; the tree wasn't any longer than my arm. Bells and stars, with the silver dust slowly falling off them 'coz of the cheap glue, sharing the little space in the arm-long wooden stick, with frills of green marble-paper leaves. A small teddy cutout and a single Mentos lay underneath, the only gifts to be opened. It was one of the best Christmas trees that you would have seen that day.
I feel, still, that there is hope in this world. And a wish for a brighter day, and maybe, a better tomorrow.
2 comments:
Whoever said 'borodin' isn't a Bengali's favourite festival should read this crisp & wonderful ode to the occasion. For now, though, I'll stick to it being a Bengali's second most favourite festival (no, political elections do not count as festivals).
:) Yah, such is the beauty of nihilism which makes you happy at unexpected times
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