Hicran Tamasasi Hirslй™nmй™ Basa Sal -

"Explain? Explain how a piece of history becomes a piece of junk in your hands?" Dadaş stepped closer, his voice reaching the balconies of the three stories above them.

The silence that followed was legendary. The neighbors held their breath. Dadaş looked at the silver samovar, then at the blue tape, then at Mammad’s hopeful face. Hicran Tamasasi HirslЙ™nmЙ™ Basa Sal

He took the tape from Mammad. "Go get the tea leaves, Mammad. We will drink tea from a samovar with a blue handle. Just... don't explain anything else today." "Explain

Mammad jumped, nearly knocking over the rest of the tea set. "Now, Dadaş, (don't get angry, let me explain)!" The neighbors held their breath

He opened his eyes, forced a terrifyingly tight smile, and said, "Fine. Başa sal (explain). How do you plan to fix it?"

Mammad beamed, reaching into his pocket. "With this!" He pulled out a roll of bright blue electrical tape.

"Listen," Mammad began, waving a copper pipe vaguely. "I saw a speck of dust. Just one! I thought, 'Dadaş loves this samovar like a son. I shall polish it.' But the polish was strong, Dadaş! Too strong! It didn't just take the dust; it took the handle right off!"