June 19. “Button, I must tell you the story about Dost’s hair brush.”

“What about it?”

“He had this really old one when he had long tresses which was purchased when we were in London years back. It was one of his most prized possessions. That brush had fibre bristles which slowly began to fall off one by one as it aged. When there were only a few bristles left, Dost wanted a new one. Naturally. He asked me to find a similar brush or remember to pick up one when we were in London next. I looked in a lot of shops for that particular kind of brush but failed. I even asked my girls to see if they could find a similar hair brush. The three of us must have searched in dozens of shops but in vain. In the meantime, the brush was losing more bristles daily and, Dost’s irritation at not find a similar one, was rising.

“This is getting bizarre. Did you find one eventually?”

“My elder daughter had the sense to check with her hairdresser if we could find such a brush. He obliged and that is how she found a somewhat similar hair brush.”

“That must have pacified him.”

“Now, he loves the new brush and is simply crazy about it. It’s perpetually kept on his bed-side table and he never fails to thank the girls for the superb hair brush they’ve gifted him.”

“But where’s the hair?”

“He combs his beard instead.”