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Smoking room

In the smoking room at the Delhi T3 this morning, I spot a man carrying a dark blue green bag, big enough to be small and comfortable.
The man lit up after fiddling through the bag for all the tools needed for the vice. A laptop and other such items peeped thru in the process.
I say, involuntarily, and against all better judgement, 'That is a lovely bag there!'. A confident thank you came back, and a smile as he patted the bag with obvious pride.
'Where did you get it from?' I persisted, hoping he would mention a Lajpat Nagar shop.
'Germany. Not too big, not too small, just right - has been with me for the past 5 years'
I nod in hitherto unknown longing and appreciation. I did not take a photo of the bag because that would have drooled away my effort at seeming nonchalant about it all.
I blame this uncharacteristic encounter on the impact that a friend's fetish for collecting bags has had on me in recent months - my delicate annoyance with it, notwithstanding
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