Trunk Of Memories

By Vishakha Gazmer

Childhood is so precious, so valuable and just a one-time thing often evoking a fragrance of perhaps the ambrosial smell of grandma’s cooking or the never-ending tales from my grandfather about his navy days and about the innumerable conversations with his landlady in England. Sometimes I am sailing in an ocean of words passed on by my dearest Lovina teacher and her prophecy of me becoming a great teacher when I grow up (that is true- well-great or not, I am a teacher) and sometimes it is the joy of spending magical time with my childhood friend. I am always amazed how these delicate tunes of memories play all the time subconsciously in a steady and a rhythmic manner. These little moments about which I reminisce more than often are like the vibrant hues of colourful spring flowers always there to cheer me up in my saddest times.

One such delightful memory, the one which I strongly recollect is the little time that I had spent with my mom. They are few – quite few- yet they are very powerful. They are like those everlasting flames that speak magically to me; they are there always in my subconscious: hidden and subliminal. These memories are like the cherished pages of a story book gifted to me by God – a gift of the past, present, and future to me.

Today, I unfold these pages and unlock some of the most treasured moments spent with my lovely mother. In spite of the chaotic and turbulent life around me, I have found solace and peace journeying through the woods of the many moments that I luckily remember.

Mummy and I had the most special times; I used to go with her everywhere; literally everywhere: to her tuitions, to Nani’s house- back and forth in train or bus. She used to pamper me with so many wonderful things. It could be a small bow clip or a trinket box; or sometimes colour pencils or a Snoopy-print compass box (Snoopy is still my favourite) and sometimes skirts and tops- a particular balloon skirt was my favourite because she had chosen for me in spite of my father’s objection. Besides these, she always kept in that magic bag of hers, orange flavoured candies, a pack of Parle-G biscuits, a Frooti or an apple. Every time I fussed or frowned – abracadabra- a candy or a Frooti or the biscuits came out and I was calmed down. I forgot sulking. Her Shantiniketan bag was a magic bag according to me–it was a humble looking bag with traditionally embossed intricate flowers and large elephants engraved on it. From her schoolbooks to stationary to my change of clothes to toffees and medicines and cosmetics – it had everything!

What I eyed the most were her lip-glosses: I never missed any opportunity of applying them- I wasn’t allowed to apply them except on my birthdays; well- I used them anyway and enjoyed the momentary feeling of looking like her. However, I was caught frequently, and eventually; Mumma had to hide them from me.

My mom was a teacher – and the most loved one. She was the favourite among children and parents liked her too. She home-tutored some kids too – one of whom I distinctly remember – Mrs. Rupa Sen’s daughter (I have forgotten the child’s name completely). They had a huge house – a duplex- and there were stairs. Rupa aunty loved me a lot and I was allowed to do whatever I wished – Aunty used to shower me with sweets or put on my favourite cartoon show while mom taught. But what I loved the most was climbing up and down those stairs – I used to imagine I am one of those Indian Cinema actresses. My mom used to secretly look at me and make jokes about it during dinner. I was embarrassed but I loved when she laughed, and I would join her too. I would laugh along.

Mom was very temperamental, and she was not a great cook- but she was classy. She was playful and naughty at times too. Her love for Hindi cinema had landed her into trouble once. Once she had gone with my aunt and her friend to watch a 9-12 show – the movie was ‘Chameli ki Shaadi’. I was told to not tell Papa that she had gone to watch a movie. So, when Papa asked me – I quoted her exact words: ‘Don’t tell Papa that I have gone to watch a movie.’ Well – when Mumma came from the movie instead of me being scolded – everyone laughed it out and till date this story tickles us pink. She loved Hindi songs and she had recorded endless programs: Ameen Sayani, Binaca Geet Mala, Bela ke Phool and Fauji Bhaiyon ki Pasand. She had an assorted collection of audio cassettes, and it was simply mind-boggling. I distinctly remember listening to ‘Sentimental Hits’, ‘Disco dancer’, and ‘Guide’ again and again. And then, of course, there were the recorded programs. I have inherited her taste for Indian cinema – it runs in our family.

The echoes of those days remain, the fragrance of those times is like fresh flowers immune to scorching summers, wet rains, or winter chills. These are not just memories- these are the only treasures I have of hers. Her laughter, reciting poems and listening to stories while with her, her scolding if I didn’t score a good grade, her love for Garden sarees, her love for music- all these forms a patchwork of warm quilt and comfort me through the most challenging times. They remind me that loving and caring about people is so important and worthwhile.

Sometimes I listen to her favourite song repeatedly or wear a soft pink Lucknowi kurta churidar (Lucknowis were her favourite) and sometimes I just talk to her – I know she is not here, but I like celebrating her secretly – everyday. I think about her and then lock her safely in the treasure trunk of my memories.

By Vishakha Gazmer