The Lost Memories

Soon after I got home, I set about doing what I didn't have time to do my last trip - Cleaning out my old shelves. My parents who give away my clothes no sooner than I have departed the country have preserved shelves and shelves of my old stuff for posterity. As I sifted through the bottom shelf of my mom's cupboard (which belongs to me), it struck me like she'd preserved reminders of a lost child. Especially below stacks and stacks of neatly piled saris. None of the things I found on that shelf resembled anything I would own now. Colorful, new and unopened love-in-tokyos (for the unfamiliar few, its the old-fashioned hair clips), multicolored pearl necklaces, unused makeup kits (the fancy multi-storeyed drawer type goods with the eye shadows on one segment, the blushes on the other, etc.), plastic bangles, inexpensive stringy handbags, plastic watches, my vanity cases filled with loopy earrings, pearl chains, bizarre pendants, and a purse brimming with notes that we'd passed to one another through Engineering at HCE amongst other insignificant trinkets. My eyes wandered to the other half of the room - my open suitcase strewn with stuff I carried with me this time. Makeup from Dior, perfume from Guerlain, a couple of FastTrack watches, a Liz Clairborne handbag amongst a mixture of western and Indian clothes... all this for a girl who's certainly not brand conscious (anyone will vouch for that). The message between the two extremes was an easy one to read. The girl had grown up.