He was bald, bent and black;
She was brown-eyed, beautiful, but blind;
Love blossomed, despite the bothering differences.
Her blindness is curable, said the doc
She wept in joy; but he in sadness, for the differences might bother them now.
This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 43; the forty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "LIGHT" (Today, fifteen-years ago, Roshini
had first lighted this antique designer diya at her dilapidated shanty. Today,
fifteen-years after, Roshini is still excited about this old designer diya; and
she’d once again light it up with all the energy and enthusiasm; but no, not at her shabby shanty.)
The designer diya was old, dull, dim
and dinted. It lay there in the corner of the kitchen store room unwanted, uncared for amidst other regular
diyas, half-burnt candles, unused rangoli
colors, plastic thorans: all tightly tied-up and
stored in a thick polythene bag. Deepawali cleaning was going on in
full swing; and for best reasons known to Reshma, my mai…