I
remember not forgiving my mother for months when one winter evening in the
hills, she gave my green woolen skirt to a woman to cover her child. I had
argued, “Did you not find anything else worth giving in the entire house?”
Though, I had outgrown and didn’t wear that skirt, but still countered that it
was my favorite. Eventually, I grew up being emotionally attached to all sorts
of things, right from little teddy bear key rings to soft toys and certain
clothes et al. But with passing years, it became difficult to mother so many
things that had emotional value attached to them, and what worse, I had no
choice.
I couldn’t have abandoned the bundle of greeting cards where my once
best-friend-turned-foe had zillions times written ‘I love you’, or couldn’t
have thrown the wrapper of the chocolate that my first boyfriend gave me. Years
passed and the stuff righteously booked most of the space of the two closets I
had. My mother did try to sermon me about hoarding things, but all in vain, and
it resulted in the fact that when I got married, I had two suitcases with stuff
that dated back to my school and college. The spotted black duppata that I wore
in my first year of college is still lying in one of the briefcases. That
duppata goes with none of the suits I have, and it’s over some fourteen years
that I haven’t worn it.
Queer
case of spotted black duppatta
History:
Once, I thought of giving it to the maid but then I have some beautiful
memories attached to it. And the memories are; I wore it five out of six days
to the college ‘miss-matching’ it with every suit; Most of the times when I
bunked classes with the group of my friends, I was wearing this duppatta.; my
boyfriend always told me that I looked really beautiful in it.
Today:
All the suits with which the said duppatta was worn are officially dead. The
group of friends who witnessed the rise of the spotted duppatta is on Earth,
Pluto or Mars no one knows. The boyfriend who loved the duppatta in question
was dumped the same year. So, basically everything moved on in life but the
poor spotted duppatta that became the martyr in the name of memories.
Incidentally,
things changed when we shifted to a rented accommodation in Delhi . There was either space for my present
clothes and other stuff or the ‘suitcases filled with memories’. I began
sorting out the things which held the least emotional value for me. At first, I
gave away hundreds of cards to raddiwaala for which I got 40 bucks. I used that
money to put mehndi on my hand. I saw my mehndi colored hand and thought, “Not
a bad bargain for pseudo memories, and then followed the getting-ridding-away
of memories phase.
Sometimes, I sold my ‘pseudo memories’ for money and at
other times for convenience, or for the feeling that philanthropy brings. But
in the process, I learnt that most of the times we connect memories to tangible
things than to people. We get over people, but not the little things those were
the props of the scene back then, and hoard sundry material items in the name
of preserving memories for decades and decades.
Now,
I realize that moments make memories. I have stopped piling things, but there
are still one or two things I am finding a suitable recipient for, and black
spotted duppatta tops the list.
I
am redeeming myself and I swear, now, I don’t hoard stuff to keep memories
alive, it’s just for philanthropy.
Chetna
I totally agree with your views here.
ReplyDeleteI have goosebumps as they are so true & strike a chord...
People have moved on, but their memories are with us... We attach so much importance!
At the end we take away nothing & go empty-handed...