Forgettable Mementos.

          You know Mr Ajit Balakrishnan? Founder of Rediff.com? I know how long his tongue is. He showed it to me and six-hundred others at the Kala Academy in Goa one day, when he’d finished giving his lecture at the D D Kosambi Festival, to express surprise and dismay at the six-kilo, two feet high brass lamp that he was presented as a memento. Someone would carry it right till the airport for him, but beyond the Security Check, he would have to deal with that gift himself: convince his spouse to make space on an already (I’m certain) crowded shelf and fit dusting and polishing it into her schedule so it didn’t get tarnished.

 I’ve seen people stuff their ‘show-cases’ with ludicrous plastic and glass ‘trophies’. Stylized lotuses, peacocks, scenes from Khajuraho, faces of favourite ‘godmen’ engraved or etched on metal plates stand rusted and pock-marked on top of pelmets, perfect for lizards and other crawlies to hide behind.

Oversized plastic flowers and garish abstract thingames are supposed to remind one of institutes one has lectured at, job tenures, seminars attended. They have cost someone money; that’s reason enough to not chuck them into the bin. The raddiwala gives nothing for them. So they stay.

Mementoes like mugs, ashtrays, and snack-bowls can be used to hold beverages or pens, but people still display them behind the closed glass doors of drawing-room cupboards to evoke nostalgia because they have photos of one’s ex-colleagues smiling out of their outer walls or innards. Deep inside crystal glass globes are laser-prints of one’s face and desk that magically appear and vanish when you turn the article. I don’t know why remembrances of others’ births and anniversaries should clutter my drawers. I have a clock that announces X married Y on such-and-such date on the hour. (Threw away its batteries to prevent a breakdown.)

Some of the most charming works of memento art I’ve seen were in the homes of friends in the Defence Forces. Their walls groan under the weight of reminders of exciting years gone by in places remote enough to not be found on regular print maps before google took over our lives. But could well-engraved small ornaments not evoke the same sentiments as shiny metal models of aircraft, bison, tanks, ships or real-size spears?

My husband’s sporty family brought in several ‘cups’ each year. Some of them are cleverly and prettily made. Quite useless now, but ‘What to do?’ my sister-in-law said, ‘can’t throw, can’t keep’. They were stuffed into cardboard cartons and stashed away in the loft.

My mother, whenever she’s invited to ‘grace an occasion’, returns with some ‘gift item’.

You go to judge a kindergarten fancy dress competition and return with ‘a token of affection’.

Manufacturing gifts for corporates to distribute at Diwali is a mature industry. From ipads and whiskeys to disposable vacuum flasks and key-chains from China, it’s a seller’s market. It’s still a long way to Diwali, and the salespersons are already making their rounds for orders.

Planners of conferences spend many hours deciding upon which bag/umbrella/writing-pads/pens to give the delegates. Then the chase for sponsors starts.

At traditional Gujerati and Maharashtrian functions, one gets steel dabbas. My sister, in an attempt to get rid of those she didn’t want, decided that the best way to re-use these dabbas was to pass them on to me. They were un-used, with the name of the giver, the date and the occasion engraved on the side or at the bottom. We spent many interesting moments reminiscing on long forgotten people and times as we examined them.

I’ve heard of VIPs pocketing silver scissors at inauguration functions, along with the shawls and coconuts, but that was before the era of scams and the reign of Pratibha Patil (who at retirement, I’ve read in the ‘papers, packed away official gifts that were meant to be left behind at Rashtrapati Bhawan). She would have been the best person to have introduced medallions as mementoes.  

Down-to-earth folk like Ajit Balakrishnan wouldn’t have minded accepting one of those rather than a huge Goan dewli that he would feel the urge to get rid of.