In a low mood he was sipping tea at a roadside stall in their thriving small town, when he noticed a bridal party coming in his direction, accompanied by the brass band musicians, the sound of their drums rising to a fever pitch. There were people, both male and female, dancing by a slow moving car housing the couple just wedded.
When the party arrived near the spot he was standing, one of them placed on the road a couple of earthenware casings packed with solid chemicals a few meters apart, and touched its open mouths with a candle flame. After a little awkward sputtering, the tiny pots (Tubri Baji) began erupting countless colourful sparks high up into the air and the stream of light grew in degree and intensity till it reached its full potential attaining a five story building height, looking like a fountain of sparkles, the embers then dropping and dying away.
Looking at the kith and kin of the bride and groom dancing with gay abandon, the sparklers shooting into the void, he suddenly felt his muscles loosening up. It then occurred to him that whatever the circumstances he must whenever possible rise above the waters, and spread good cheer wherever he’s supposed to be.
The procession then moved on, their band blazing, eager to put up another such show some distance ahead.