A Splinter on the Edge

To others it seemed outrageously inane for a grown man to keep something so “positively girly” as Jem put it; a little heart shaped box made of china clay with a picture of a couple holding hands in pink ink.

Though not expensive now, that box carried some pretty expensive jewels. More expensive than the jewels themselves, were Sharad’s memories of them. He remembered a particular a pair of ruby earrings- red cubes, he called them. She had laughed her silver laugh when he announced that she was wearing “ruby cubes” one day when he returned from school. They had just learnt about cubes in geometry and he was showing off, because Aaji hadn’t been to an English school and he figured nobody in Marathi schools knew what cubes were.

It had been a keepsake that Maushi had got from her first job at The Afternoon, to Aaji too, that box seemed to be precious. “Be careful, Sharad, if you break it I will break your head”, she had warned him when he was trying to carry it only on his index finger. Sharad knew that Aaji could never hit him, she never had, though Ma and Maushi kept saying that she was quite capable of giving a good thrashing. She used to be quite strict, they complained, but Sharad had never seen that side of her.

It amazed him how a little thing like that could bring so many memories back, rich and vivid. Like that day when he and Baba were playing cricket with a broom and a rubber ball; Baba was bowling and Sharad deftly struck it right on the bedside table where Aaji kept her knickknacks, including the heart box. Some things tumbled into disarray and a pointy little thing pierced the box. A whole week, Aaji was cross with him, she didn’t even give him the usual peppermints, which would years later be permanently linked to his Aaji memories. The cover of the box was marred forever with a little splinter on the left edge.

There were smells too, distinct Aaji smells… like lemon sachets and peppermints. When he entered Aaji-Baba’s house, he stepped into the hall and breathed in; lemon sachets, his summer smells. Holidays for Sharad meant long stays at Aaji-Baba’s- long walks with Baba in the morning to the nearest National Dairy, another walk, later, with Aaji this time, to the fish market where he first learnt to bargain. There was never a dull moment at Aaji-Baba’s; they did everything they could to keep him content. He could live for days there without even talking to Ma and Papa on the phone. In the kitchen he helped Aaji with cleaning the fish. Afternoon naps were compulsory and at nights they watched video tapes that Maushi had bought like Blue Diamond or Glo Friends while eating Malai and Pista kulfi.

Now, sitting in his office, holding the box, all those things came back to him with some smiles and a solitary tear. Aaji, Baba, the house, had all ceased to exist years ago. He caressed the only remainder; a piece, seemingly meaningless… to Sharad, a proof of a part of his life, some people, a house that once existed with a splinter on its left edge…