Words in a waltz

I didn’t mean to abstain from writing in this long, but frankly, trifling tittle-tattle about the man who’d made the under-bridge his home, or the kid that’s begun selling pieces of coal to stuff stockings of daft little imps with this Christmas, had to be eschewed, as there were bigger things happening, like turning another year older, which I did, this past Saturday.

I had such a merry time that I have trouble recounting it all in bits. I woke up to a deluge of gifts from the hubby, and got swarmed with chocolates, paper cards (yes, they still make those, and if you ever get any, it would only be by the minutest quirk of luck), surprise gifts, phone calls, emails, sms-es, a world full of love and care, and a mammoth dark chocolate cake that I’m still drowning in.

I will be back, once I’ve wolfed down all of the cake, and looked back and figured out what I’ve accomplished in the last year that makes me better, or wiser, if little. I’d have loved also, to burrow out those loving reminiscences of birthdays bygone - of hand-made cards, letters, gifts, gift wraps, jaded pictures (many in sepia tones), all packed with the warmth of loved ones - and squirreled safely away in those rusty, squeaky iron-cast containers back home (for the less informed, these are gargantuan storage units, complete with lock-and-key, and one might find them in the attics of most Indian homes). But I’ll have to make do with the sweet memories for now. Okay, I really have to be off before I get any mushier. Besides, the Godiva Goddess also beckons.