A layer of dust had settled on the wooden table with dark pink sunmica
on top and dark blue sunmica strips on the sides. A pile of books was
dropped on the table and some of the dust flew off and out escaped a
photograph from one of the books.
Arti picked up the photograph. It was one of her childhood
photographs, she was five years old in it, sitting on her light blue
and gray tricycle. The tricylce was a gift from her late paternal
grandmother.
Arti knew where the photograph came from. Among the pile of books was
a book of poetry. It was a gift by Arti’s mother to Arti’s
grandmother. Arti’s grandmother must have read the book hundreds of
times, it was her favorite. She kept it on the side table next to her
bed.
A few years after Arti’s grandmother passed away, her father decided
to sell off the old house as financial constraints made it difficult
to maintain his own house and also the house of his parents. Some
essential things of the old house were packed and brought to the other
house while other things were sold off. Arti was arranging her
grandmother’s books which had arrived packed in a box that morning.
Arti had never thought growing up would be an experience which would
be so different from most of the things she had ever thought of. It
was like growing taller and stronger absorbed all the childhood
imagination as a cost. All of a sudden, the age and physical presence
imagined became a reality, but all the things which were thought and
the energy behind thinking them had somehow diminished in the majority.
We either run or walk, moving ahead in life and at a point of time
when we stand to look back, we realize we have become better in many
ways but at the same time we have lost many things as well. Loss of a
few things are necessary but there are also those which are invaluable
and sometimes we don’t realize it until it’s too late.
Arti had never met her paternal grandfather. He had passed away before
she was born, but she had enjoyed each second of the time she had
spent with her grandmother. The stories she told, the songs she sang,
the food she cooked and the hope and happiness she saw in a way no one
could, everything was vividly remembered by Arti and she had taken the
time to write it all down in her computer along with photographs and
videos.
The most valuable thing that Arti had lost in her life were people.
There was so much yet to be done and seen with them present in life.
Now, all that remained were the interactions which sometimes occur in
the dream or in memory and the remembrance of meanings behind the
words once spoken with different expressions, intentions and
happiness.
Moving on in life is not a smooth road. We often think being busy is
the key, but that can only be useful in ignoring what is stored deep
inside for a while. Eventually we always have to face our deepest
pains, gradually or all at once.
Moving On… Away?
Early Morning Memories 
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