Amongst the dust and cobwebs lies a history

A piece inspired by idle poking through old cupboard at my grandmother's place. Vacation writing :)

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The translucent bookworms slithered out from the frail yellowed pages, each seeming to echo an era gone by. She tentatively folded a corner in her hand, wondering if the page would crumble, leaving mere powder and the daft smell of Memory. Thanks be to God, there was a sharp crease, the self-assured sign of a page not ready to concede defeat to the pressures of Time. One after another, books were dusted off the shelves and pages were pried apart, some more unwilling than the others, as if the security of a long forgotten bookshelf and the anonymity of being one amongst dozens were too much to let go of. There, deep amongst the scores of books extolling religious words of wisdom lay a transparent envelope overflowing with an assortment of...invitations, were they? Perhaps letters preserving the air of Yesterday, a whiff of the past that wafts forth with the unfurling of the brittle page.

The letters were ordered, as were the postcards; the former the characteristic blue of Inland letters and the latter the peachy cream that spelt the erstwhile postcard. Every once in a while, there lay a white envelope bearing a foreign stamp, looking regal in comparison to its local counterparts. It bore a stamp from the UK and spoke of duty-free shops at Paris airport. "I hope the television comes to India soon," the author had written. "It seems like something Indians would enjoy." It came from a time when a pound was thirteen rupees, when monthly salaries were in double digits overseas but a fortune when converted.

Most of the letters asked about the family, the newborn baby and her cheeriness with a dash of the usual family gossip. Who was visiting who? Who was getting married? Who was expecting a baby? It was all there, scrawled into the last few lines of every weekly letter, just before the casual 'yours affly' preceding the signature. 

There was something oozing security from the words 'safe news' on the top corner of every letter. All is well, it said. Everything is okay. I am just checking on you - a brother writing in to his baby sister.

And then came the invitations. A wedding in 1963, the celebration of an upcoming child in 1968, the wedding of that child in 1990, another child born in between and the invitation to his sacred threadceremony. It was all there, preserving the story of not just one individual but the whole family in those white enveloped with the corners dyed a holy orange-red, lines from the scriptures and various Gods accompanying the names being celebrated.

These envelopes heralded the change of Ms to Mrs, of Mrs to Ma, of Gouri to Gouri BSc. There was growth here, new beginnings and fresh starts with new and renewed families. These envelopes here? Yellowed with age and squirreled away at the back of a forgotten cupboard? These here are eyewitnesses of a lineage.