I saw my life of 40 years and more tumble out of closets and cupboards. I began to discover things and knick-knacks which I never knew existed and could be termed “lost and found”. Files with my daughters’ haphazard drawings and scribbles, preserved carefully over the years, were uncovered with not only surprise but with the revival of echoes from their childhood days.
The storehouse of memories opened up, flooding the moment with the activities of the past and each scribble came alive. Black-and-white photographs loosely tied together were found in a folder, which had been stored with a sincere intention of being put in the album some day. Of course, there were albums with neatly inserted family pictures.
They were the registers of my life lived mostly from the day of my arrival in this world. So many co-travellers had been lost in my journey of life, the photographs standing testimony of the same. I was packing house, moving to another city or rather relocating at almost the fag end of my life.
I had come to Varanasi to study, after my schooling, in Banaras Hindu University. Those were the golden days of making new friends, excitement of doing away with the school uniform for more colourful dresses, being part of the academic atmosphere on the campus, and thrill of exploring new pastures. Days slipped into months and years flew by, with me doing well in my studies, winning accolades and landing a coveted position on the teaching faculty of my alma mater.
I discovered .