The night was young and bright,
The air was filled with a rich aroma,
I was with my friends, out for a festive stroll,
Making most of the festive fever,
Busy, clicking pictures, exchanging words, flaunting my festive makeover, enjoying myself, and last of all,
Giving the goddess of power a glance or two.
She seems to have lost the sparkle in her eyes,
And her face is too expressionless,
I thought a bit disappointed with the images in my camera.
All of a sudden, the festive lights seemed too much of a glare,
And the sound of dhaks and the holy mantra on the microphone,
Seemed more like a loud noise.
I was looking for an answer, when
I noticed her;
A girl of seven or eight, in tattered clothes, disheveled hair and without shoes,
The biggest festival of Bengal has not transformed her to Cinderella.
I looked at my branded attire, my newly bought handycam and my auburn highlights,
And felt for a moment, that perhaps, she too had a right to be happy, and
Handed the hundred rupee cornetto in my hand to the girl.
As she gave me a surprised smile,
I was left speechless, to find the goddess looking up at me,
With the sparkle back in her eyes!
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