I still remember the day I read this story for the first time. I was an impressionable pre teenage school fellow. I was in grade 6 and my the then English teacher did a very sucky job of reading/explaining this lesson. Honestly.
And then I read the story in my 12th std. And then on a cold winder night during my Masters days. Every single time, I found it wistful. Like there was so much in that story about the two people who did magical things. It was never about what they had received. But about what they gave. It fascinates me to this day.
When I receive a gift, no matter how my day is or how my mood is, it invariably only gets better. I love it that someone had taken the pain to remember me, and get me something. It makes me feel very special. I always end up smiling very sub consciously. Someone took this effort to make me feel happier. To make me feel good. To make that effort to get me something that I must have chosen for myself.
There's a sense of excitement in giving and receiving. It only enhances the process so much more when the excitement is shared.
Like my cousin just sent me a pic of her wearing a dupatta that I had gifted her last month for her bday. I smiled. She sends a pic everytime she wears it. The experience in giving and receiving gifts is ethereal.
It doesnt matter what it is. Like in "the gift of the magi".
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