I kept searching for it high and low- I knew I had kept it away in some safe place but could not remember where. This happens to me often. I would tuck something precious into some 'safe' place and then forget where the safe place was. This time it was my appachhan's ( maternal grandfather) fountain pen- the one with which he would write in his diary daily until his last day in this world- the silver capped maroon Parker- which my ammamma- grandmother had given to me. The one that I cherished-
Yeah, so here I had been searching for it since some days and I couldn't find it. It nagged me- but I was sure I'd find it sooner or later. I searched everywhere- in all the nooks and crannies- in all the little purses in which I had tucked away bits and pieces of treasure but the pen eluded me...
That day again, I was searching in the cabinet - and suddenly my eyes fell on the little red velvet purse in which I had kept a few pieces of trinkets- and Voila! I knew it was to be in there- I opened the purse, and sure enough there it was lying nestled in between my trinkets- I was so happy and relieved- and my eyes filled with tears- I called to my sons and they came running- they knew how upset I had been about not finding this pen- my elder son filled the pen with ink ..and I wrote my first entry in the new diary that my vallyamma (MIL) had given me...
Yeah, so here I had been searching for it since some days and I couldn't find it. It nagged me- but I was sure I'd find it sooner or later. I searched everywhere- in all the nooks and crannies- in all the little purses in which I had tucked away bits and pieces of treasure but the pen eluded me...
That day again, I was searching in the cabinet - and suddenly my eyes fell on the little red velvet purse in which I had kept a few pieces of trinkets- and Voila! I knew it was to be in there- I opened the purse, and sure enough there it was lying nestled in between my trinkets- I was so happy and relieved- and my eyes filled with tears- I called to my sons and they came running- they knew how upset I had been about not finding this pen- my elder son filled the pen with ink ..and I wrote my first entry in the new diary that my vallyamma (MIL) had given me...
2 comments:
Oh, I understand that feeling - It was so much more than just a pen, a precious memory a witness to a past taht is part of you.
I am so glad you found it. Nice post
Isn't it amazing how a simple object can become the key to unlocking the neural pathways of fond memories?
Once, I thought - if I am no more, some of the things I owned (like the first comic book that I ever read, or a broken plastic toy belonging to my son), which were so precious to me because of what they signified, would languish in the mala, or be sold off to the raddiwala, or just end up in the gutter, and I felt sad for the potential destruction of something so valuable to me.
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