Eyes flashed Noses grasped for oxygen Mouths thrashed Ears squashed Mr and Mrs Saxena smashed the vulnerable brochure. "Where now to go for our sweet honeymoon?" She crackled "Coconut Island in India" He tracked Europe section "Hey, Brussels" that's it "Our destination" and no more mutual tirade “my dear!” So here they departed mingling with the tourist influx chattering amid the humongous bunch heading towards Brussels Mrs and Mr Saxena arrived at dawn at Brussels Airport Maritime breeze soothed the frozen faces Mr and Mrs Saxena Took off their huge coats Pulled out their soft socks Hey Brussels is warmer We escaped from the cutting cold in Delhi this January” Corpulent back-packs now was ambulatory no more. He accelerated to the coast She grabbed his hands for,well, a kizzzzzz He felt like Lucky Luke, hailing the Atlantic breeze for some detective clues She felt like Victor Hugo, quietening for the souls to communicate The architect Mr Saxena‘ Got lost’ in Grand Place, Royal Palace The ‘far-sighted’ Mrs Saxena Stunned by the Manneken Pis “Hey sweetie, how about our kids? Will they be in that Vrije Universiteit Brussel?” “Sure, honey” Mr Saxena assured “And let’s bound them for some Dutch courses since their babie-hood Let’s name them Tintin, Cubitus, Gaston Lagaffe and Marsupilami” So what's that? What's honeymoon by the way? Is it necessarily sweet as if we can taste the moon? Or ...