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The fairylights in the garden shall soon be back in their cosy boxes. In the crowded utility room cupboard shelf.
The puja silver have been washed, made to shine again, aided by that tiny pinch of toothpowder and patted dry.
The flower garlands adorning the main door have drooped, I shall get them off tomorrow morning.
A pile of mithai boxes waits in the kitchen corner to be disposed. It’s got to be a no-sugar next week.
Diwali is over. And now a year of patient wait before its time for celebrations again.
One last sari before the family disperses, back to the routine clockwork and hectic humdrum of daily life. And this time it’s a matka silk in rust and moss from the earthy hinterland of Bengal.

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