Static

My most ancient of television was adjusting the antenna.
Perched on our roof's ledge. Moving the steel rods this way and that. Hollering to my mom one floor down.

"Kichhu aash chhe?" (See anything?)


"Ebaar?" (Now?)

Point it towards the hill, urged my friend Tipu. Hills transmit further, because of the Echo Effect. Tipu was elder to me by a year, and therefore, a scientist.

Obediently I would try. But to no avail.
All we got on the screen, was snow.
Just snow.
After 20 fidgety attempts, we used to go back down and watch whatever appeared on screen (basically, snow.)
Because hey, at least there was a box to stare into.

The weekend is a bit like that.
I already know that nothing will ever happen, save for random and rarely rewarding binges.
Snow.
And yet I'm looking forward to it.
A box to gaze at.