Last night after a long relaxing bath I made my way to my bedroom with the resolution to catch up on my sleep by getting in bed early. So I went up to my bookshelf to choose a book from my limited library for some night-time reading. I took out an old volume of Sherlock Holmes mysteries. Just as I was about to settle in my bed, I saw two smooth pebbles crammed in the empty space from where I had just taken out the dog - eared book. One was gray - green and smooth to touch, the other one red and rough textured, but both were beautifully oval. I had picked these pebbles from a river bed when in Simla with friends, on a vacation, as souvenirs of the good times. In no time I realised I was smiling while looking in space like a lunatic, remembering that trip and all the fun we had. I blew the dust off the pebbles and replaced them on a more respectable place on my already crammed shelf.
Forgetting all about my book and my good intentions of sleeping early, I found myself a duster and set about cleaning my shelf. On the top shelf, there’s a collection of little statuettes of the laughing Buddha gifted to me as good luck gestures. Along with the content Buddhas, there is a pretty little idol of Lord Krishna which glows in the dark; a beautiful finger sized Lord Ganesha with a missing arm; a heavy one eyed statue of the Laddoo Gopal; a mini crystal shiv linga and a blackened plate of navakar mantra. The surprising thing is that I am not a religious person! I feel proud in being 'almost - an - atheist'. I wonder why so many deities adorn my bookshelf in that case! But I just did not have the heart to put them away or hand them over to Ma where they would be in safe hands. But the stories and people and memories related to them made it difficult for me to part with them. And I am good at avoiding difficult things.
After rubbing the tummies of all the Buddhas (for luck) and dusting the other deities, I moved on to the trophies. When I was 15, I had about 120 trophies and cups to my name. They gathered dust on the curtain pelmet, almirah tops, table tops, next to the TV, behind the TV, perched precariously on the wall clock.. I guess you get the idea. Every available free space had a trophy on it. No, I don't intend to show off here, (OK, maybe just a bit, there's nothing wrong with being an extra-ordinarily talented child, now is there?). These tokens of appreciation and recognition caused me a lot of embarrassment and usually acted as conversation starters. People used to enter our little drawing room and be taken aback by all that junk! And my parents would pounce at the opportunity of regaling the poor guest with stories behind the trophies and moving on to how talented their daughter is. Anyway, I am drifting here. So, when I grew up and got enough authority in the house, I gave away some trophies and cups to the neighborhood children, most of the lot went to the 'raddi' waalah (My mother was heartbroken. She had planned to give away these trophies as a part of my dowry! :O), some I saved and now they gather dust on my bookshelf. If I had known how nostalgic I would get about my school years, I would have never ever given away all those cups.
(MENTAL NOTE TO SELF: Hunt down the kids I had distributed my awards to. Get them back)
I came across an old diary of mine and when I flipped through it, out fell torn and faded A R Rehman concert passes. It had names on it and smileys and I just couldn't help smiling back at the slightly off balance smiley. I fingered a lone rose pressed between the pages of the diary. I remember selecting the rose from my birthday bouquet. The bouquet was an unexpected gift from a dear friend studying abroad.
There was a lotto ticket with just one remaining number. Our entire family, some 60 people, had gathered on New Year’s Eve to celebrate together. We had chatted and played Lotto. I had waited for ages and ages for that one number to be announced but it never was. I pinned that ticket to my purple board. There were college fest tickets to Jal’s concert and lots of letters and notes, received and written, movie tickets, restaurant bills.
A lot of stuff in my room is totally useless for me. There is a sea - shell, ornamental candles (which don't burn, obviously), a crystal ball with a German cathedral and fake snowflakes and a score of other this and thats. Each one of no obvious use to me, but each a reminder of some incident or someone. It was after seeing all these little nothings that I realized what an emotional idiot I am. I never thought of myself as a keeper of memories, but then my diary records, my writings, my collection of cards and souvenirs prove otherwise. Well, another new revelation about myself. Thought I’d share it with everyone. Maybe I have saved something which reminds me of you as well. J
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