Today I worry not of the horny cars which shout on top of their digital voices, or of the birds that will die tonight (owing to their sensitivity which cannot live through the sound of crackers), or of people with doors kept open for Lakshmi’s blessings. Today I’m worried about all that chocolate that I won’t be able to eat.
I’m 19.5638 years old, blessed (not really) with a 23.0638 year old brother.
We still fight for chocolates. We are a result of early exposure to the commodity of chocolates. They made it impossible to inculcate the habit of sharing. Today as I sit here typing this post, cultivating the virus responsible for cold and cough inside my poor body, I am worried. My system does not recognise a festival without provisions of eating chocolates. And that is exactly what is forced upon me due to untimely illness. Well, I’m sure my brother will have a Happy Diwali. As they say it, it’s the times that are harder, which make us realise how much we love our family. Ah. Surprise. They were right.
My Diwali
