The Death of a Glass
I had a red plastic tumbler, the ones you get free with a meal at Mc Donalds. It was with me for the last three years. When objects stay with you for a long time, they become your symbols, start to redefine your style and taste. I don’t remember using it for drinking anything as such. Me n D had got two of these and we kept one each. She used to use hers to keep her kajals and liner on the dressing table in our room in A’bad.
After moving to my hostel room in delhi, I put it to a similar use, more for keeping knick-knacks. Then I found a more beautiful use for it. My boyfriend gave me these red carnations which elevated the status of my red tumbler to that of a vase. Though the red carnations never really got a fair chance in flaunting their beauty in this red thing, it still served a purpose. Maybe next time I’ d have had him get me lighter ones. Now that its gone, I have it in front of me so I’ll describe it. It had a nice cute shape, ergonomic for good grip and right size. It’s funny that now it’s almost become useless to me, I am writing down the good features of it, after giving it so much thought. This, I feel , is the irony of the way our mind works. We never realize the worth of something or some one until we lose it/ her/ him.
It has bad crack which will prevent any liquid to be stored in it. I can’t crib or cry over it because I know it was an accident and that too by someone I love. He tried to mend it, but sometimes its too late to mend any cracks. Why can’t we stop the mean cracks from coming up in the first place. There’s something called prevention. So why let the cracks happen and then put our energies in fixing them up. Sounds so simple but when it comes to growing distances between people, stopping cracks from creeping up is as Herculean as swimming against the tide. I don’t know what should be done but God, I hate cracks. Even if you fill them up, they leave a mark, scar something forever, menacing reminder that things are not the same as before even if you tried hard.
D an I also had our crack mending phase. Now I am trying to mend another one.
After moving to my hostel room in delhi, I put it to a similar use, more for keeping knick-knacks. Then I found a more beautiful use for it. My boyfriend gave me these red carnations which elevated the status of my red tumbler to that of a vase. Though the red carnations never really got a fair chance in flaunting their beauty in this red thing, it still served a purpose. Maybe next time I’ d have had him get me lighter ones. Now that its gone, I have it in front of me so I’ll describe it. It had a nice cute shape, ergonomic for good grip and right size. It’s funny that now it’s almost become useless to me, I am writing down the good features of it, after giving it so much thought. This, I feel , is the irony of the way our mind works. We never realize the worth of something or some one until we lose it/ her/ him.
It has bad crack which will prevent any liquid to be stored in it. I can’t crib or cry over it because I know it was an accident and that too by someone I love. He tried to mend it, but sometimes its too late to mend any cracks. Why can’t we stop the mean cracks from coming up in the first place. There’s something called prevention. So why let the cracks happen and then put our energies in fixing them up. Sounds so simple but when it comes to growing distances between people, stopping cracks from creeping up is as Herculean as swimming against the tide. I don’t know what should be done but God, I hate cracks. Even if you fill them up, they leave a mark, scar something forever, menacing reminder that things are not the same as before even if you tried hard.
D an I also had our crack mending phase. Now I am trying to mend another one.
posted by wandereress at 12:58 PM
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