OLD SUITCASE, FRESH MEMORIES...
There are three suitcases propped up in the rack of our bedroom. The last time I took them down was before my daughter was born. Almost seven years back. The rack is occasionally dusted and cleaned but the suitcases are never brought down or opened. This weekend, we decided to open the Pandora's box and be doomed.
One of the big suitcase was bought when my wedding was fixed. The usual customary buy when the girl leaves as bride. I remember I had stuffed it with my son's winter clothing last time. But I don't remember putting in 200 plastic spoons inside which was bought to do a table lamp as part of his science fair at school.
Tucked inside the side chamber was my school uniform. My husband threw me a dirty glance as if I had a serious complaint. I told him its just the skirt, the shirt was discarded last time I opened it.
He then bend down to pick out a brown cover which held a few diaries, postcards, letters, journals and books. He, who promised to help me dust the suitcase, could not be found for sometime. Having disappeared with my personal memoirs. From what I remember, he had done it last time also. So I was not worried.
One of the small suitcase had all my byline stories which was published during my life as a journalist which I feel was a lifetime ago. I sat down in the mess and remained there for a long time going through my stories. One of the interviews that I did with Dr Gnanam who headed NAAC once, threw me out of gear. I dont even remember having met such a person, nor do I recall anything about issues in higher education that I seem to have had a hold on in the past. Can someone entirely washout a profession of 10 years from one's life?
My husband has a grin as he hands me back the cover. He shows me a letter and says, ``You should read this.'' My son leaps from the sofa and lands beside trying to snatch the letter. But his father is more swift and saves it. `You can read it in five years', he says.
I knew it would be one of the many love letters I wrote at 18. Ridiculous evidence of a decade long courtship. I only threw one glance. My hair stood up on its own. How cheesy and sleazy!
yuck !
Then I opened one of the books in the packet and found a chemistry note. I ran through it like an Arabic notation. When did I sit in a chemistry class? Sepia toned classroom of my pre-degree days flashed in my mind. OMG! My son shouldn't see, I had told him I was an English student all my life. A bail in advance.
And then we cleaned all up, Removed old clothes to be discarded (except the school uniform) and threw in some fresh ones. This time it was mostly my daughter's things that could be part of my memory next time I open it. We stacked everything back, closed the rack and put bygones to rest again.
One of the big suitcase was bought when my wedding was fixed. The usual customary buy when the girl leaves as bride. I remember I had stuffed it with my son's winter clothing last time. But I don't remember putting in 200 plastic spoons inside which was bought to do a table lamp as part of his science fair at school.
Tucked inside the side chamber was my school uniform. My husband threw me a dirty glance as if I had a serious complaint. I told him its just the skirt, the shirt was discarded last time I opened it.
He then bend down to pick out a brown cover which held a few diaries, postcards, letters, journals and books. He, who promised to help me dust the suitcase, could not be found for sometime. Having disappeared with my personal memoirs. From what I remember, he had done it last time also. So I was not worried.
One of the small suitcase had all my byline stories which was published during my life as a journalist which I feel was a lifetime ago. I sat down in the mess and remained there for a long time going through my stories. One of the interviews that I did with Dr Gnanam who headed NAAC once, threw me out of gear. I dont even remember having met such a person, nor do I recall anything about issues in higher education that I seem to have had a hold on in the past. Can someone entirely washout a profession of 10 years from one's life?
My husband has a grin as he hands me back the cover. He shows me a letter and says, ``You should read this.'' My son leaps from the sofa and lands beside trying to snatch the letter. But his father is more swift and saves it. `You can read it in five years', he says.
I knew it would be one of the many love letters I wrote at 18. Ridiculous evidence of a decade long courtship. I only threw one glance. My hair stood up on its own. How cheesy and sleazy!
yuck !
Then I opened one of the books in the packet and found a chemistry note. I ran through it like an Arabic notation. When did I sit in a chemistry class? Sepia toned classroom of my pre-degree days flashed in my mind. OMG! My son shouldn't see, I had told him I was an English student all my life. A bail in advance.
And then we cleaned all up, Removed old clothes to be discarded (except the school uniform) and threw in some fresh ones. This time it was mostly my daughter's things that could be part of my memory next time I open it. We stacked everything back, closed the rack and put bygones to rest again.
This was a delightful read :) please do continue with your writing Asha
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