Kalchey-Laal Benarasi, hello.
This letter, were it a faded blue inland one, posted physically, would find its way inside the divan into the saree stack which is not worn often. Once there, the letter would have to make its way down to the bottom to reach you, you yard of memories. I did not address you as 'dear', and I think that itself speaks volumes. You are one short of a decade and I still have you around, without any particular fondness.
You were bought without my interest or consent, except concerning the size of the motifs that ornamented you. And I draped you without any of the special attachment I have towards my greys or whites. I always saw you as a burdensome element in my wardrobe, to be handled with extra care, which came along with the unnecessary premium of celebrated emotion.
I can easily have so much more of you willingly, if only I were allowed to sew you into cushion covers, or refashion you into runners, or, just as a fancy table cover sometime. But, no. Your ego would not let me do that to you. So stay, stay unworn and useless. This letter finds you in perfect 'red' of health, I know. But the moments associated with you, they were never so.
Tomorrow is Teacher's Day, and having you around has been like this unending supply of tolerance I have had to soak myself in. It comes from the very thought of you. Not having helped your specific cause, it has helped me in most other ways. Also, in being a teacher. So, though unwanted, thank you. You may miss the smirk I have whenever I chance upon you, but please do not miss the essence of this letter. I hereby highlight it:
You taught me a lesson.
You still teach.
See you soon. As I ruffle on which saree to wear on Saturday, when I go for the lunch for teachers. Be sure to smile back and later, yield your ego.
K.
No comments:
Post a Comment