The Box Of Fond Memories

Cleaning up the cluttered book shelf and an old suitcase is messy, but also filled with pleasant surprises. I was looking for a few note books from my school days in an old suitcase and the suitcase soon became a box of memories. 

I came across an old photograph of me and my first ever friend, relaxing in the sun on a winter afternoon. I was hardly 5-6 years old then, and all I was concerned about was the sun setting too early and reducing my play time. That was the biggest worry then, and the biggest responsibility was keeping an eye on my toddler brother and going after the boys who did not give him a chance to be the batsman. The gully cricket was the biggest match ever and cycling around the neighborhood the biggest rebelling act.

Then I came across a few old letters. Yes back then I used to write letters to an old teacher of mine. She used to teach us Bangla and retired and shifted to Calcutta when I was in class eight. She left her address behind and I used to write letters to her. She was kind enough to patiently go through that almost illegible bangla handwriting of mine and reply to me. The smell of those inland letters made me smile and of course the innocence of the words written on them. I wonder if I can still write like that. It is sad how no one writes letters now and the closest alternative now is the email. I have been told a number of times by so many people to write small emails. Alas! I just can't. I am pretty old school here and love writing and reading long emails. Yes now we can chat over the various social networking sites, but then they are not as personal and beautiful and thoughtful as letters and emails.

A little more rummaging through that box of memories and I found an old, pages almost yellow, book by Albert Camus. On the first page of the book was written, "For being an attentive reader, and liking this book so much! --Sir" I remember borrowing that book from Sir and liking it so much and talking about it to him, that he had allowed me to keep that book. It was so precious to the 16 year old me, that I had not displayed it on my bookshelf. 

There were birthday cards and new year cards and gift wrapping papers with small notes from a special someone. An old t-shirt which belonged to the person I first fell in love with. Wrappers of chocolates, movie tickets, and so many other small gifts, and even a glass jar labeled, "a bottle full of sunshine and fresh air from the hills." That was my brother as a seven year old, bringing back fresh air from Darjeeling. I know these things probably mean nothing to so many people, but brought back fond memories to me. 

The final thing I found in that suitcase was a box full of shells. That collection was a recent one. When I was in Chennai, a few friends and I, on a whim went sea digging for shells. Chennai beach has got the most beautiful sea shells ever. We spent almost two hours collecting shells till our fingers were sore with numerous cuts and our back stiff from bending down for so long. But we were happy. We had the best collection of shells ever and we proudly flaunted it around.

These are the little joys of life which makes us happy. Maybe the friend doesn't remember me anymore, or that special someone has drifted away somewhere. The old teacher is no more today. My grown up brother considers it stupid to bring back fresh air in a jar now, and probably Sir doesn't remember giving that book to me. But these things made me smile, and I know what they mean to me. Being responsible and serious is important, I know but then it is the memories of those completely impulsive and careless times which make us smile. Rummaging through this box of memories on a hot summer lazy afternoon really made my day. And may be it is these memories that still help me to be the happy person that I am today.