An Unheard Melody

I haven't opened that gift yet. It was the last Thursday in Chennai, that I received it. It was left without any note at my desk. I learned later, it was Sumathi who had left it there. On first thought, I guessed it must have been Lalitha. I announced that, I wouldn't open it for long, since no one claimed it to have been from them.

The very thought of an unnamed gift brought a smile. It cannot be a book. The pack is too small to hold a book in it. It could be a showcase piece. It could be a timer. It could be a doll. I really don't know what is in it.

Yet I haven't opened it. Not that I don't want a gift. I'm not used to receiving gifts often. Of course, as you sow, so you reap. It could be another million years, someone else would send me a gift. Things (read: People) I consider gifts don't stay with me. They arrive like a lightning, depart at the same pace, leaving me wondering, what the hell was that? Not that I'm complaining. I'm just rephrasing history.

I don't want that to happen to this little gift, that came like a blessing. I'd like to give you the bibliography of the title here. The second stanza of John Keats' Ode on a Grecian Urn goes like this:

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;