Death of a TT Table

It is after a long gap of 18 years that I rediscovered the passion of hitting a ball on the green/blue topped table. After a long time I once again had the privilege of being able to descend daily on a table and enjoy hitting the top spins, the chops and the loops---something my departure from the native place and the erratic timings of my profession had made me forget.
Having rediscovered my love, I was reminded of the table at my native place on which I had learnt the game as a kid from my father, the table that had helped me practice for hours on end, the table that had helped be win some tournaments and carve an identity for myself in a small hill town. One does get attached to lifeless things at times. I still remember playing practice matches on that
table, placing bets with the prize being samosas, omelets and at times the all time favorite masala dosa at the local coffee house.
This table had been lodged at a small club of the factory where my father worked. It was one of those luxuries that we kids had at our disposal at that time. We saw to it that it was dusted properly and covered when the game was over. Our evenings revolved around the musical sound presented by the ball tossed over at a fast pace.
I had not visited the table since I had started working myself and ever since my parents had moved out of the factory accommodation to start residing outside the premises. It was last month that I had started missing the table. It so happened that while I was at my hometown I had a visitor from the factory premises. After the initial pleasantries I could not help asking about the well being of that old table — my childhood companion.
The tale that was narrated to me was like this. With the factory having gone on the path of slump, there were not many families residing in the premises any more. Amongst those who continued to reside, their kids were more interested in watching television or playing computer games. Above all, one of the senior most officials --- the kind of dictators that are visible in all private establishments --- decided that the table was a fit gift for his servants to try their hands on. Instead of transferring the table to some hall where the servants could have made some use of it, it was instead placed in a verandah exposed to the slanting drops of rain.
The servants never played the game but the rain lashed it off and on. Ultimately, the wood gave up its resistance and the table died an unnatural, untimely death.
"Where is it lying right now? "was all that I could ask.
"With the wood having dissolved, its skeletal remains are lying at the carpenter shop," said my visitor.
Ever since then, the child in me has been visualizing the mortal remains of the table like that of a human being, something that I have been associated with for years. I know its funeral will come in the form of its remains going into a bonfire. When that happens, I can't say?