Imprints of frustration and negligence with a compass were tattooed on the table.
The table could occupy 4 S. Chand Text books and 2 long note books, opened wide.
The table, at least a 30 years old benevolently let people of all ages and sizes rest their elbows on it.
Over years, it grew old. Yet, it rubbed its magic on a sect of people.
The sect of people who learned their tables honestly, solved math problems with a quench for it, and refused to see the clock where the time always was the same. For them, it was a magic table.
For the rest, it was just an old wooden piece with four weak legs and an old deaf man sitting on the other side, while the rest waited for the clock to move an inch or someone to disturb the tuition.
P.S.: This is an ode for the magic table where i solved math sums and gorged on the pleasure of it during my 9th and 10th grade.