It was on Christmas, that I drove out for lunch after many months, and found roads not just dug up everywhere but found many had been kept as permanent dugouts for months!

I wondered whether in this period of lockdown, when other athletic events and games had been kept in abeyance, had made road digging a sports event for us?

It was a scene of joy and revelry! The Christmas tree glistened, its branches laden with blue and red balls. Snow shown white on its branches and mistletoe and green wreaths hung everywhere. Santa stood near the tree, a look of contentment and satisfaction on his red face as he took another swig from his bottle and stared at Mrs Santa, “It’s been a good season!” he said taking another swig, then waving at the reindeer who peeped in through his window.

It was the squeakiest, shrillest, squeal of a sound, that kept its constant bombing into my ears, and I realized it was getting on my nerves! Workmen were working on my building, and on top of the constant pounding, this was too much for me. I left laptop and chair, and walked determinedly up the stairs to my terrace where I knew these unholy sounds were coming from, and found the source.

Yes, there’s a book inside most of us, waiting to be written. Each of us go through experiences in life which may be quite similar to those others face, but how we face them, win over circumstances, fight the odds, build our faith, sometimes lose it, watch friends disappear, see new ones come by are experiences which are unique!

“Now that you’ve retired mother what do you plan to do?” asked her children as she came back from work the last day at the office.

“Join the church choir!” exclaimed the mother.

“But you don’t know how to sing ma!” they all said in dismay.