Re-using Gifts.

          The silly season’s nearly over, and you’re stuck with a five cakes still wrapped in transparent plastic, four sets of table-napkins, three packets of fancy candles, two boxes of chocolates and a bottle of cheap wine (you could use that for trying out an au vin recipe). Not including the curios which, if you display them, are going to add to your dusting woes. You’re lucky no one’s gifted you a puppy or turtle. Or shiny marbles one more time. Or your umpteenth pair of brightly coloured socks (unless you’re a collector). Or plants/flowers your mother-in-law is allergic to.

          If you think buying presents is a tough job, using gifts someone else had chosen is tougher. Those with bursting wardrobes and overflowing book-shelves (and no time to read those tomes) know how irritating it can be to add yet another item to the collection. So much easier to handle a piece of precious jewellery, but not everyone takes the hint if you tell them that.

          So, after you’ve carefully unwrapped, un-creased, folded and kept away the wrapping paper – you do re-use that, don’t you – sort out the gifts into will use, may use and won’t use ever. Put a little chit inside the gift with the name of the person who gave it to you. that way you won’t by mistake give it back to the same person. And make sure there’s nothing written inside the box. (Once, when a friend opened a carton of fine china coffee mugs, she found a note that read ‘from ‘X’ to ‘Y’’ indicating that they weren’t originally meant for her). If you don’t want the next person to pass it on further, paste a chit with your name and good wishes prominently on the inside of the box, or write the same with a bright felt-tipped pen. Break the chain thus.

          Books can be passed on quite easily if one’s name isn’t written anywhere (inspect carefully, people like me write stuff in one of the inner pages for an ‘ouch’ moment: if I’ve gifted a book, I don’t like it to be passed on). Ever since we began to download music and movies, it’s hard to give away cds and tapes (remember those?) if one does receive any.  

          If your relatives and friends insist on giving you pillow-cases with ‘sweet-dreams’ embroidered on them, or thin steel trays that make a patak sound when handled or perfumes that are strong and horrid enough to be sprayed in bus-stand loos, please gift them away in charity. The poor and needy don’t mind. Some people give very practical gifts: diapers and some unmentionable female hygiene products, soaps, shampoos, ear-buds, refills for ball-point pens. I don’t mind those kinds, I’m actually quite comfortable in this category till the level of bath-towels, for they are consumables.

          What if you live in a tiny flat and you receive a huge crystal glass bowl? No place to keep it, too expensive to gift away easily, emotions involved? I suggest stash it away until you buy yourself a bigger place. If you must reuse it, make sure you remember to give it to a favourite relative/friend who will value it, so that every time you see it, you know it’s ‘yours’ and feel some joy. Not of owning, but that the thing is being cared for. Like one might feel for a loved pet. There are people who feel the same affection for their (dear, departed) expensive gifts.

          There are people who keep every gift they receive: unmatched sets of coffee mugs, painted shells, manicure sets, etc. Every painting and ceramic plate they get is displayed. In the old days, wall-clocks took a lot of wall-space in these hoarders’ homes. They delight in telling you that the (truly awful) blouse(s) they are wearing was/were gifted by xyz neighbour/schoolmate/acquaintance. This article isn’t for them. (The slashes to include both singular and plural are for grammar Nazis, my apologies to lesser mortals.)

          The New Year has been ushered in. In homes across Goa, unwanted gifts will find their way to the loft, to be aired, dusted, repacked and gifted when the time comes to people on birthdays, anniversaries, friendship days, and more.

          The smart ones, who want to make sure their gifts are valued know that, when in doubt, it’s best to go traditional. Home-made foods are rarely reused. ‘Specially if the giver smartly insists on opening the jar/dabba in the presence of everybody and offers the snack/dish/drink around. There’s something about well-made hand-crafted things and living (potted or otherwise) plants that makes it difficult for recipients to resist keeping them.

          And before you decide what to keep, discard or pass on, bear in mind: the mantra of the three ‘R’s: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.

          Until the next celebration, happy gifting!

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.

Feedback: sheelajaywant@yahoo.co.in