A story about a grandmother
My grand mother was a beautiful little lady. She had hair so white as snow right from the day I remember seeing her. I had a very special relationship with her. She never told me too many stories like the other beautiful grandmothers , but still I was very much attached to her. When I think of her , the two things that are most vivid are a big rosary which she used in her numberless prayers throughout her old age , and off course ,that mysterious box-the dark brown wooden box. It has a special place in my childhood memories.
We used to live in a joint family, with the howling and screeching group of little devils-my uncle’s children and yours truly, making a fine unit of terror. Ah, about that box. It was a revered item at home. I have never seen anyone being unkind to it. I sometimes got the feeling that granny’s guardian angel was protecting that box as well.
I always had an eye on the box. And the most curious thing was that I never saw it open!
Maybe she didn’t want any of us to have a share of her private treasures of life. Or maybe I slept too much to see her with it. Whatever it was ,the box was there., wooden and dark , prickling my curiosity. When I knew no one was near I used to poke my fingers into the keyhole , in case it was graceful enough to respond .but a seven year old was never going to be that lucky.
The more I thought of the box, it became larger and larger in my fantasies. It often made guest appearances in my dreams. Then I saw it open. Each time the box was different. When I was very small ,I could see a kaleidoscopic inside to it. There was a particular smell and color and ..and something which I cant explain, associated with the box. I imagined all kinds of curious things inside the box. But when I woke up ,everything was the same. The box sat there , arrogant and cold.
I recall that my dreams changed when I grew older. Whenever I got a new feeling about the box, I knew I was getting mature , because the dreams showed a clear transition. When I was 3 or 4 I saw colored marbles inside that box. After those blissful years , I was admitted to the LKG of a convent school. Then I wanted a ‘ruby cube’ inside that box. I saw that thing in the class showcase. I sensed some intelligence in that box, the ways it twist to give the permutations. My primary school life was saintly. I was the most disciplined student of the class , just because of my headmistress – the warlord . I dreaded the cane she paraded from morning to tea. And that was the first thing I didn’t want the box to contain – weapons of mass destruction. A single 200 gram cane wiped off much color from my childhood.
When I was at high school I sensed a gap between me and my grand mother which began to widen gradually. Friends became everything for me . I sometimes took some air in , sat back and thought about nostalgia and all that. I mistook myself to be mature. But these were just innocent evils of my age. I still had childish dreams. Then there started a movement among the boys all over the country (At least I thought so) – cricket card collection. A chewing gum company was responsible. Entrepreneurship was being served to us children in ice cream plates. The best business tycoon was to get the most respected cards, which I managed to. But my business network collapsed when my class teacher seized the treasure. I started a desperate quest to regain pride. It was then that I got scolded by my grand mother. I was caught with the keys of the box. I just wanted to check out if she kept some of my cards away safely in that box! That frustrated child is a nice memory now , years later. Now I realize how important the box was to me . I was living my life inside that box.
After SSLC I was moved to a hostel . By then I had my own trunk box.- A happy green tin trunk box. At first I was very possessive about that box- the ‘I-have-my-own-box’ feeling (pun regretted!). But slowly I understood that the magic was somewhere else. Mine was a plain tin trunk. It lacked a soul.
By the time , my grandmother moved to live with her youngest son for a change. The box was gone too.
Life started to unfold before me suddenly. I got a B Tech seat through Differentiation and Integration. Then.. four years passed like a trance. I was fooled by time. I am not a child , but a jobless B Tech now. Anyway I don’t want to blame anyone for my plight. I should have seen it coming when I started to dream about bottles with strange labels in that box. I am not blaming anyone. I am home.
Life has taken a sea change. I now realize that you need money even to dream. Being home grown up is a bad thing. It was a relief when my grand mother was back home. She was still beautiful , but the glow had disappeared. She wasn’t as possessive about the box as she used to be. Old age had crept into her nerves firing them down. As she was getting hopelessly hopeless about life , she gracefully handed the keys over to my mother. But she was more interested in cabbages and carrots than some old worn out wooden box. I got the key.
Strange mixture of feelings washed my mind over. I was unworthy ,and at the same time I was the most valued. I cannot dream like a millionaire. I’m just a B tech in waiting. But now I have the key which was my most valuable thing as a little boy. But what surprised me now is that I never tried to open the box. I don’t know why. Maybe I was being chivalrous to my granny. I was afraid that she would be hurt if I opened the box just like that, even if she wouldn’t express it openly. Maybe I didn’t want to end the mysteries associated with the box. I don’t know.
The whole episode seems to me like a case study of human nature. The little things which cause so much heartbreaking pain. Yet I am clueless why I am acting ling this . I don’t know why wisdom brings sadness.. I don’t know how people can let life slip through saying sadness is beautiful and all that. I don’t know why ageing is such a pain. I don’t know anything.
Note: Doni James, S5 Electronics and Communication, CET.
"
Posted on Thursday, September 08 @ 07:44:34 CDT by webmaster
http://www.cetafi.net/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=44
We used to live in a joint family, with the howling and screeching group of little devils-my uncle’s children and yours truly, making a fine unit of terror. Ah, about that box. It was a revered item at home. I have never seen anyone being unkind to it. I sometimes got the feeling that granny’s guardian angel was protecting that box as well.
I always had an eye on the box. And the most curious thing was that I never saw it open!
Maybe she didn’t want any of us to have a share of her private treasures of life. Or maybe I slept too much to see her with it. Whatever it was ,the box was there., wooden and dark , prickling my curiosity. When I knew no one was near I used to poke my fingers into the keyhole , in case it was graceful enough to respond .but a seven year old was never going to be that lucky.
The more I thought of the box, it became larger and larger in my fantasies. It often made guest appearances in my dreams. Then I saw it open. Each time the box was different. When I was very small ,I could see a kaleidoscopic inside to it. There was a particular smell and color and ..and something which I cant explain, associated with the box. I imagined all kinds of curious things inside the box. But when I woke up ,everything was the same. The box sat there , arrogant and cold.
I recall that my dreams changed when I grew older. Whenever I got a new feeling about the box, I knew I was getting mature , because the dreams showed a clear transition. When I was 3 or 4 I saw colored marbles inside that box. After those blissful years , I was admitted to the LKG of a convent school. Then I wanted a ‘ruby cube’ inside that box. I saw that thing in the class showcase. I sensed some intelligence in that box, the ways it twist to give the permutations. My primary school life was saintly. I was the most disciplined student of the class , just because of my headmistress – the warlord . I dreaded the cane she paraded from morning to tea. And that was the first thing I didn’t want the box to contain – weapons of mass destruction. A single 200 gram cane wiped off much color from my childhood.
When I was at high school I sensed a gap between me and my grand mother which began to widen gradually. Friends became everything for me . I sometimes took some air in , sat back and thought about nostalgia and all that. I mistook myself to be mature. But these were just innocent evils of my age. I still had childish dreams. Then there started a movement among the boys all over the country (At least I thought so) – cricket card collection. A chewing gum company was responsible. Entrepreneurship was being served to us children in ice cream plates. The best business tycoon was to get the most respected cards, which I managed to. But my business network collapsed when my class teacher seized the treasure. I started a desperate quest to regain pride. It was then that I got scolded by my grand mother. I was caught with the keys of the box. I just wanted to check out if she kept some of my cards away safely in that box! That frustrated child is a nice memory now , years later. Now I realize how important the box was to me . I was living my life inside that box.
After SSLC I was moved to a hostel . By then I had my own trunk box.- A happy green tin trunk box. At first I was very possessive about that box- the ‘I-have-my-own-box’ feeling (pun regretted!). But slowly I understood that the magic was somewhere else. Mine was a plain tin trunk. It lacked a soul.
By the time , my grandmother moved to live with her youngest son for a change. The box was gone too.
Life started to unfold before me suddenly. I got a B Tech seat through Differentiation and Integration. Then.. four years passed like a trance. I was fooled by time. I am not a child , but a jobless B Tech now. Anyway I don’t want to blame anyone for my plight. I should have seen it coming when I started to dream about bottles with strange labels in that box. I am not blaming anyone. I am home.
Life has taken a sea change. I now realize that you need money even to dream. Being home grown up is a bad thing. It was a relief when my grand mother was back home. She was still beautiful , but the glow had disappeared. She wasn’t as possessive about the box as she used to be. Old age had crept into her nerves firing them down. As she was getting hopelessly hopeless about life , she gracefully handed the keys over to my mother. But she was more interested in cabbages and carrots than some old worn out wooden box. I got the key.
Strange mixture of feelings washed my mind over. I was unworthy ,and at the same time I was the most valued. I cannot dream like a millionaire. I’m just a B tech in waiting. But now I have the key which was my most valuable thing as a little boy. But what surprised me now is that I never tried to open the box. I don’t know why. Maybe I was being chivalrous to my granny. I was afraid that she would be hurt if I opened the box just like that, even if she wouldn’t express it openly. Maybe I didn’t want to end the mysteries associated with the box. I don’t know.
The whole episode seems to me like a case study of human nature. The little things which cause so much heartbreaking pain. Yet I am clueless why I am acting ling this . I don’t know why wisdom brings sadness.. I don’t know how people can let life slip through saying sadness is beautiful and all that. I don’t know why ageing is such a pain. I don’t know anything.
Note: Doni James, S5 Electronics and Communication, CET.
"
Posted on Thursday, September 08 @ 07:44:34 CDT by webmaster
http://www.cetafi.net/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=44
posted by donichayen at 7:14 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home