Sometimes we give life to things. Things that are lifeless if it weren’t for the unreasonable emotions associated to them. We see these things as a Time Travel machine, capable of taking us back in time to the memories of the past and the warmth derived out of it.
I have heard of people who prefer hoarding a part of their Almirah with old cards, hand written letters, black & white photographs, granny’s hand knitted sweaters and what not. All because it has a connection to their past, a happy past.
My relationship with my grandfather was like a toggle switch, having no middle ground. I loved him seldom, hated him mostly. Thinking about it, I know he deserved more warmth from my side. Not that I can bring a change now except pray that his soul rests in peace.
For every chance he utilized to pull me down, I cursed him silently. For every episode of his filthy cursing directed at my parents, I wished him pain. For every time he hit my grandmother, I prayed for his lonely death. And that is how his end came. In pain, alone except for his wife. It was not supposed to turn out that way. God did it and then happily placed the albatross around my neck. It has been 7 years since.
We shifted to a separate house 4 years back and while we replaced all the furniture with new in style ones, somehow we did not let go of my Grandfather’s bed. While the family saw it as a gentle reminder of the once patriarch of the house, I saw it as a leather whip of guilt. I saw it as a constant reminder. We chopped off its legs and placed it in the drawing room as a royal floor diwan, appreciated and copied ever since by everyone who visited our place. If only they knew about its past.
Yesterday we decided to sell it. “OLX mein bech de” my brother said and that is what I am planning to do. I am planning on selling it away. I am planning on selling my guilt away, I am planning on selling all those repulsive memories away and I am planning on giving away the comfortable pain I derive by sitting on it. But I am also planning on keeping the few warm memories attached to the man who breathed his last on it. All for 15,000/-.
So am I attached to things, you ask. I choose to not answer that.