Another lazy morning reminds me that the calendar has turned yet another page in what has been a semester of erratic fortunes. The mellow light filtering in through the dusty mesh covering my window reminds me that the newspaperman will be here soon with his pricy Hindu newspaper. I remind myself to go to the ATM to forage enough cash to pay him off; that is when yesterday's copy of the paper reminds me that I haven't done justice to it.
I lift it off my side table meticulously, without disturbing myriad other things which lie beside it, and I discover day-before-yesterday's paper below it. I chastise myself for my shameless habit of not reading-up current-affairs, only to discover that my wrath is ill-directed. For I'm not really angry at myself for not reading the latest on the 2G scam, but for the fact that I let these things lie around.
I remember my mom admonishing me as a kid, when I refused to part with toys of yore, "Throw them out, son!" But I did nothing of that sort. I used to secretly stash them in the corner of my shelf along with the other stuff I couldn't bear to part with - books, worn-out crayons, old clothes and other stochastic paraphernalia. I knew that mom would find them out one day and then destroy them all with one cold-blooded swipe. But that never really hurt me, as I wouldn't know about it happening, until it was all done. And after that, I could barely remember what it was she had thrown away. So all ended well.
Now I am not that kid. And mom's not around to throw stuff away for me. And it hurts. I find myself drowning in a deluge of stuff I really oughtn't keep! I look around to find innocuous immaterial collections of Airline Baggage Tags and Bus and Train tickets, weird stationery items like a first semester notebook or a 'historic' pen, clothes which I won't wear ever - like the T-Shirt my dhobi ripped through, sentimental reminders of what I once thought important including wrappers, labels, boxes and memory-cards, empty cans of deodorant and broken knife blades.
I am determined now to rid myself of this horrendous habit. And what better way than to throw out these relics of the past. And thus I proceed to my shelf to blast them all into oblivion; but then the newspaperman is here. And I need to pay him. May be I should throw the stuff out some other day...
This is exactly what happens to me. I collect bus tickets meticulously over an entire year and when Ma finds out, out they go. She hasn't found my old stationery bag yet, thankfully.
ReplyDeletebro, i think you gotta be that kid you used to be,well the things you collect now are deodrants n airline baggage tags...not crayons n your fav. things, so ofcourse it will be hurting n painful to know that you've got things that are grown up n jugded of class. Collect some things that come your way, not some which you want to like a precious n valuable thing...i think you jus wanna be that kid again :)
ReplyDeleteI tend to do the same things. Empty deo bottles, unread ET editions...
ReplyDeleteNice post. Senti but not mental.
I really enjoy reading your posts. It reminds me of my childhood!
ReplyDeleteThrowing out excess baggage is refreshing. I of course found that out after 4 years of college. I can still not forget the "Wish you were here" poster I forgot to take off the wall (pun unintended), but that's about everything that I miss from my old room.
ReplyDeleteThe quintessential maddu that I am, the only thing I refuse to throw is anything with a picture of God.
ReplyDeleteI am reminded of the Egyptians for some reason. They used to bury all sorts of pointless paraphernalia along with their dead, to facilitate their journey in the other world.
Good post ra.
Good one
ReplyDeleteBeen there. We think it's hard to part with things, but at some point unless we throw them out they don't leave space for new things to enter. Ah well.
ReplyDeleteYou're talking material things. I sometimes find it hard to delete old e-mails.
ReplyDeleteI find it hardest to part with good food. Though most of it is dumped in my big fat tummy itself, the last piece of murukku or mysore pak from home is way too hard to part with.
ReplyDelete@yellapaddy: Everytime I see you call yourself Atul, it takes my cerebrum and medulla oblongata over 42 million neural computations to recognise it's you. Jai Krow!
Relics of the bloody past, never die fast. I had a habit of storing used batteries under the pretext of breaking them up and studying the interiors. Of course, I was only interested in saving them from the incinerator. Once a great horde capable of blowing up half the city had accumulated, I had to throw them out for fear of my mother discovering them first and reporting me to the Interpol.
ReplyDelete@ Raghav: Hapak lolzz man!
@ Muruth, She will da. Mom's always do!
ReplyDelete@ Anon, I collect random stuff now... Stuff I'm attached to and things which don't really matter.
@ Malhotra, Nice to know I'm not alone... Senti but not mental eh? That remains to be found out.
@ Anunaya, So everyone was the same when we were young, huh?
@ Banja, I'm not leaving anything here when I depart!!
@ Shreyas, Thanks da... It's good to be able to part with stuff. As for stuff with gods on them, I secretly hope someone will dispose them for me... So I'm not responsible for throwing them out.
@ Mohit, Thanks man.
@ Atul (ya?), I understand the pragmatism of the concept. It's just not that easy in practice!
@ Lefty, That's something i forgot to mention in the post! But EMails aren't usually the problem (with infinite space available on GMail). The problem is with SMSs!
@ Shaggy, Food eh? I wonder if I've still got stuff left? :) (And thanks for tell us the truth about Atul)
@mK, Batteries? Talk about fetishes! But seriously man, batteries leak!