MY TAKE
THIS AND THAT FROM HERE AND THERE
Spring has sprung and it’s time to get rid rid of this and that. Image credit: DARSHAK PANDYA on Pexels.
By SHAGORIKA EASWAR
As a young adult, I held a certain opinion about what I imagined an older person’s home would look like.
Now that I am that “older person”, I am terrified of representing the stereotype. And so, once every so often, I get into a “Let’s get rid of this stuff” fervour.
Specially this time of year, when the urge to spring clean is strong.
But is it all clutter? Do I really want a magazine cover-worthy space, all curated, but impersonal?
Of course, stuff accumulates over time. I have the sneaking suspicion it spawns more stuff when I am not looking.
Thus, I have the drawer full of old phones as well as cables and chargers for phones that are long lost. Medicines and cosmetics past their expiry dates. Empty bottles and jars that I save for one day when I might need an empty bottle or jar... Or all the clothes I have held onto hoping to fit into them again. But I am not talking about those. Because those I get to, periodically, and cull ruthlessly.
Those are also tucked away and out of sight, they do not get in the way like other stuff can. But again, do I really want to get rid of things we have added to our home over the years?
Here are a few, in random order:
The clay Ganesha hanging I picked up from a potter on a street in Delhi.
The little clay whistles that my friend Jeeth gave for our grandson. Shaped like birds, they trill sweetly like a real bird when filled with water.
He handed them over to me for safekeeping.
“They’ll got lost in the clutter in my room,” he explained.
The green and yellow watering can from Madrid that I added to my collection of watering cans.
The crocheted Afghans my friend and neighbour Anne made for us.
The little clay pot with bright splotches of paint that our grandson gifted me on my birthday, confessing that the pot had “a little crack”. It sits on my desk as a pencil holder.
The bunch of woodroses I carried in my lap all the way from Bangalore. The vine, native to parts of India, is also called Hawaiian Baby Woodrose, Vidhara or Woolly Morning Glory and its blooms dry into beautiful woody cups. People selling bunches of these used to be a common sight in Bangalore once upon a time, now not so much. Also, airlines were kinder and more relaxed with passengers back in the day. Now the chances of my being able to find and bring that quintessential memory of Bangalore are practically nonexistent. And so, a dust trap though it is, it stays.
Engraved bookmarks from Kitab Ghar in Mumbai and ones painted with delicate miniatures from Jodhpur.
My collection of coffee mugs. From Auroville in Pondicherry, from local artisans’ fairs, “kulhad” mugs from Lucknow, and ones gifted to me by our sons over the years. Mugs I deemed too pretty to use until recently. Now I use them in rotation and find immense pleasure in just holding them and admiring the craftsmanship.
The strings of little brass bells that adorned the entrance to the puja room at my in-laws’ home.
The bangle stand that caused an argument between my cousin and his wife. I spotted it in a shop in Shimla where they had taken us. My cousin, the world’s best bargainer, tried to bring down the price, and failing to do so, urged me to walk away to display disinterest. “He’ll call you back,” he said. His wife wasn’t convinced. The sweetest-tempered woman on the planet put her foot down. “It’s hand-carved from local wood, you won’t find it anywhere else, let’s go get it,” she said, equally firmly. I looked from one to the other, not wanting to upset either. But I did want it, badly, and so... On one of his subsequent visits to Canada, I showed him the bangle stand on my dresser, now adorned with bangles. Among them, those that my friend Rukhia got for me from Hyderabad after her daughter’s wedding. The ones my aunt gave me for Teej. Silver ones my husband got for me from a souk in Damascus, long before the war. Older silver ones I picked up from a village fair near Ooty while on a family holiday with my parents. Good guy that he is, he took a photograph to share with his wife.
I’ve become firm-ish about not accepting or picking up more things than absolutely necessary (and to forgive myself if I succumb to the odd temptation), but I am also keeping most of my little treasures.
Just as laugh lines are earned, many things spark joy and kindle memories of people we love. And that is priceless.