just enough pathos

it's that odd mix.of days.days filled with hopes,and dashed hopes,new dreams,plays,classes,French,friends,fun,Mad Angles,,music etc.Somewhere in between,i often get lost.Dada got married.And in the glow of his happiness everydayness seemed pretty.Weaved a whole lot of colours through that dirty cloth.Blushed.Wore sarees.And shot pictures.Loadsa.Of the bride who's a partner in crime and giggles.the rituals.Of three days of unadulterated warmth.of the tiny little bits which form a new piece of puzzle.of shubhodrishti,shindoor,shankha pola,and golda chingri. of running all around the place.getting praised and scolded and spoilt by a multitude of mashi,pishi,meshos and jethu's.of teasing dada.of the nostalgia at the old,old house.
Family weddings are wonderful.

French eggjam was quite okay.and at am clueless about what's happening at the studyfront in college.
otherwise,everything's pretty much the same.

And for the brown-eyed stranger.The mist seems new.