<p>Graham Bell’s invention sat pretty on a pristine, round, marble tabletop. The much needed machine oft used by grandpa’s offspring’s teenage gang was constantly in demand. The marble top was held by a dainty tripod. A much admired piece it was and the teeny boppers so used to scribbling nothings while on the hot line, were careful not to scrape the white marble top.<br /><br /></p>.<p>The teenagers remained teenagers no more. Each flew to different parts of the globe. Grandpa and grandma took to eternal abode. The once most sought after machine was sent back to the telephone department. The tripod was moved from our ancestral house to the outhouse when its renovations began.<br /><br />The house was re-opened a few years later. We were coming to settle down in our ancestral home. The outhouse resembled a mini go down. Everything it housed became so important, even the pickle jars became ornamental pieces in the living room. To our utter dismay the tripod had toppled over with its marble top cracked in half. The history behind the cracked marble top – the grandchildren’s children had used the outhouse as a hideout to play hide and seek. In all trepidation of being discovered, a child had knocked against the tripod, hence the calamity. The tripod looked quite forlorn, stripped off its top, paint peeling off its legs and what not. Old age seemed to have caught on. But it had left and indelible mark for, its usual place in the corner of the hall looked bare. <br /><br />What do we do about an 80-year-old tripod, with its top missing but still elegant, its 3 legs intersecting at the center and falling gracefully to touch the ground. “Give it to the gujalee,” said an old aunt. But sentiments die hard. Ideas flashed like light bulbs. Thus began, “Operation Restoration Tripod.” Should it be used as a center table with half its legs snipped off or should it be of the same height as the corner table? To pamper all our thoughts and wishes we had a blacksmith close at hand.The blacksmith was excited. He encouraged the restoration.<br /><br />Now, what colour should the dainty legs be? Black is beautiful, so black it was. What top? Should it be marble like it was, wood or... “glass” voted mother. The tripod was finally ready and was restored to its old place, looking as elegant as ever. But it’s top looked bare so a vase with flowers was placed. We could not stop admiring the transformation. Tripod with a shiny clean top, with colourful embellishments.<br /><br />“What a pretty table,” somebody remarked. We looked at each other and the history of the table was divulged. The tripod stood as if listening, with its new glass top, reflecting old memories. For old is gold after all, and there’s nothing like saying it with flower’s, isn’t it?</p>
<p>Graham Bell’s invention sat pretty on a pristine, round, marble tabletop. The much needed machine oft used by grandpa’s offspring’s teenage gang was constantly in demand. The marble top was held by a dainty tripod. A much admired piece it was and the teeny boppers so used to scribbling nothings while on the hot line, were careful not to scrape the white marble top.<br /><br /></p>.<p>The teenagers remained teenagers no more. Each flew to different parts of the globe. Grandpa and grandma took to eternal abode. The once most sought after machine was sent back to the telephone department. The tripod was moved from our ancestral house to the outhouse when its renovations began.<br /><br />The house was re-opened a few years later. We were coming to settle down in our ancestral home. The outhouse resembled a mini go down. Everything it housed became so important, even the pickle jars became ornamental pieces in the living room. To our utter dismay the tripod had toppled over with its marble top cracked in half. The history behind the cracked marble top – the grandchildren’s children had used the outhouse as a hideout to play hide and seek. In all trepidation of being discovered, a child had knocked against the tripod, hence the calamity. The tripod looked quite forlorn, stripped off its top, paint peeling off its legs and what not. Old age seemed to have caught on. But it had left and indelible mark for, its usual place in the corner of the hall looked bare. <br /><br />What do we do about an 80-year-old tripod, with its top missing but still elegant, its 3 legs intersecting at the center and falling gracefully to touch the ground. “Give it to the gujalee,” said an old aunt. But sentiments die hard. Ideas flashed like light bulbs. Thus began, “Operation Restoration Tripod.” Should it be used as a center table with half its legs snipped off or should it be of the same height as the corner table? To pamper all our thoughts and wishes we had a blacksmith close at hand.The blacksmith was excited. He encouraged the restoration.<br /><br />Now, what colour should the dainty legs be? Black is beautiful, so black it was. What top? Should it be marble like it was, wood or... “glass” voted mother. The tripod was finally ready and was restored to its old place, looking as elegant as ever. But it’s top looked bare so a vase with flowers was placed. We could not stop admiring the transformation. Tripod with a shiny clean top, with colourful embellishments.<br /><br />“What a pretty table,” somebody remarked. We looked at each other and the history of the table was divulged. The tripod stood as if listening, with its new glass top, reflecting old memories. For old is gold after all, and there’s nothing like saying it with flower’s, isn’t it?</p>
