WHEN THINGS FORGOTTEN RESURFACE.

(2006)
A visit to Greetika’s house turned out to be an eye opener for me. First, the décor of her home was remarkable with generous input of daylight to adorn every ornate object. Second one of the rooms of her house that been exclusively dedicated to numerous books collected over the years by her dad. Of course, I complimented her for both attractions but my pride was shattered by the latter. I was there barely for 20 minutes and underneath I felt so petite, rather awestruck, throughout. I took such pleasure to tell people about the modest collection of books on art, literature and philosophy which I own. But which would amount to only one-tenth of her assortment.
Recently I asked Mom to describe my Dad’s study room in Kashmir. She told me one could find various prized books and paintings by my Dad treasured in one of the rooms of our grand house. I also bear in mind her telling me that the night before we all migrated from Kashmir, my Dad had bought a sack-full of books which regrettably he never could read. Later it was known that the house was burnt down to ashes and so the nest was ruined by the vultures.
All this made me stop envy Greetika’s wealth and I started pondering over how it feels to part with one’s own creation and the object of affection. My dad being an artiste adores his paintings and shares a relation with each one of them. It is similar to giving birth to a child whose separation a mother cannot stand. The very decision of a creator to abandon his creation perturbs me. I then tried to envisage in my mind the anguish my dad must have gone through. Indeed, I cannot imagine myself in such a turbulent state of affairs. I find myself unable to traverse through and start all over again from a scratch. As always, I was full of admiration for my Father for his ability to break free from his past, steer clear and float up triumphant. But this episode with its flash-back going way back to Kashmir drew me in a contemplative state of mind. I could distinguish on my mother’s face all those expressions emerging ‘when things forgotten resurface’…