Today, my good old Nescafe shaker died. It was just 16. Yes. My 16 year old shaker died today. From fatal injuries. A crack at bottom, and a crack in lid. Both ill-fated. Ah! If only, the concept of bandage worked for shakers. May be not all shakers. But for this one at least. I would have bandaged and nursed its wounds. Antiseptics too lest some infection developed. Proteins for recovery. Just like it made one for me. Every morning. I still remember the day ma gave it to me. For the sheer versatility it offered. Sweetened shakes. Spiced buttermilk (Punjabi style). Lemonades. Young in taste. Motherly in serving. And I had evolved before it. It had taught me to swirl. To that “nescafe shake shake shake, I wanna make make make” It had born my change of tastes too. Silently. Served me sincerely. Till yesterday. And then it fell. And breathed its last. It is survived only by the stirrer attachment. Rest in peace, my good old friend. It is from you that...
Rhapsody resounds, resonating for eons, what'll be your echo?