Mementos

          “We need a new show-case,” I said to Sri Husband.

          “?” wordless question from him. It involves raising one eyebrow, pursing lips and generally scowling. I can make out when it involves a bad mood. Quite often, actually.

          “The present one is over-flowing.”

          “??” Second eyebrow joined the first, chin and cheeks confirmed the scowl, mood worse.

          Me, now treading with carefully selected vocabulary: “I tried to fit in the crystal Hanuman and the frame Billy gave us but…”

          Before I could finish the sentence, the eyebrows hit the forehead and the growl that was being civilly suppressed in the throat exploded into something. I could make out “… is made of plastic, not crystal… and …frame can be kept after throwing out… all useless things.”

          I waited until Sri Husband’s cheer (too strong a word, but there isn’t a milder one) was rebooted after a brisk walk and a bout of pranayama.   A bowl of raw carrot juliennes with cucumber cubes and a fistful of sprouted pulses did the trick. Washed down with no-milk no-sugar herbal tea. (Yuck, I say, but not to him.)

          Then I rephrased sentence one with a sigh: “So many curios, so little space.”

          Wrong timing, wrong choice of words. This time the brows, chin, cheeks and lips stayed put. That kind of silence means Awful Mood. Very different from the Awesome we use on fb.

          He opened the glass door of that inherited-from-the-in-laws cupboard and one by one removed all that was inside, shelf-wise, item-wise.

After several “chuck this” and “throw that,” I got into the fray, albeit mildly, because he was tossing valuable things into the dustbin.

Me: “I got that trophy for the Best Bakeress 1999.” “That mug with the photograph shows our ‘baba’ winning the first prize in his first tricycle race.” “Your office gave you that ‘mubaarak ho’ spectacles case on your fortieth birthday.”

Sri Husband’s responses: “You were the only entrant in that Bakeress competition.” “Our ‘baba’ is now a grown man who has told you many times to grow a money-plant in that chipped mug or donate it to a beggar.” “Spectacle cases are for casing ‘occlan’ not to preserve for posterity.”

Me: “That pen-stand is a reminder from Himmy’s first wedding anniversary. Can’t throw it.”

He: “Give it back to him.”

Me: “That curio is a piece of art, see Mother Mary’s expression.”

He: “We’ve got twenty-nine Mother Marys with the same expression, in metal frames, on ceramic plates, embossed in glass, painted in water-colours, holding Baby Jesus, looking heavenward… and another twenty-nine Ganeshas, reclining, standing, dancing, embroidered on jute, knitted in wool, on playing-cards…we can do without all of them.”

Me, hurriedly, tidily, putting back all that he was taking out: “See, if I adjust a little, maybe we won’t need another show-case after all.”

He, bashing on regardless: “That plastic doll doesn’t need to be show-cased. Or those beermats or… what are these… peacocks made with buttons?”

 Loftily I told him: “They are keepsakes, reminders of our life’s events. The plastic doll is my niece’s. She’s gone away after marriage, no? I think of her when I see it. Those coasters we got at the Annual Function of the Club of the Evergreeners.”

“Why didn’t they distribute plants instead?”

I ignored that: “… the peacocks are hand-crafted by under-privileged women…”

“Can someone not teach them to make useful things like paper-bags?”

Me: “You can’t recognize a work of art if someone thrusts it in your face.”

He, shoving a two-foot object towards me: “Is this a work of art? This map of India dressed like a goddess?”

Me: “That’s a present from the Country-Lovers’ Club. All invitees were given one.”

He:  “What a nightmare, fifty such tri-colour-clad Mother Indias standing in people’s show-cases.”

Me, hastily replacing that with a smaller article, a laser-worked, angular, crystal-glass vase.

He, suspiciously squinting at it, read: “In fond memory of Dolly’s seventieth birthday. Who’s Dolly? And why is a seventy-year-old called ‘Dolly’?” Then he did something I was hoping he wouldn’t: he turned it around and discovered that it read the same thing no matter how you held the vase. From every side, including up and down, the ‘fond memory’ showed. Truly, I thought, a piece of art. Then he picked at a label: “Made in China” it said.

Awkward silence because we were carefully preserving mass-produced made-elsewhere articles. Amongst others, we found one mini-umbrella with battery operated fan, one stuffed toy that rotated its beady eyes when turned, one talking camera and a key-chain-cum-torch.

“Why are these things in a show-case?” Sri Husband wanted to know. Am sure that question was heard all the way to the Coqueiro Circle at Porvorim. Further yelling included: “Either use them, or gift them away or trash them.”

Sri Husband saw me relocating the non-digital clock with finger-hands that crawled over tinsel ‘hours’, the lovely calendars from yesteryears and said to me: “Next time someone gives you a memento for talking/writing/attending function/festival or any reason at all, tell them to give you a plant or a medal. No shawls. Coconuts are ok.”

“Ok-ok,” I said hastily, buying temporary peace. “ok-ok.”

Later I thought, good idea, actually, less dusting to do.

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