Bequeath - invaluable of otherwise valueless

 I have no real memories with him, for my journey with him had begun long after he was gone. And so I was literally left with his ‘left overs’ at home – things he left behind which have not yet faded or depreciated by then.

That  was probably one of the most confusing phases of my life, for that matter, any child’s life. I am referring to that tender age which finds it difficult to differentiate between dream and reality, and naturally forms a continuum of the two. Probably I was just picking the language, understanding some words in their right connotation and interpreting some others attaching my own meaning to them. I would hear some things, see some other things and connect them to make my own story. That was not the confusing part. The confusing part was when I used to fail to differentiate between the story I weaved and the reality. 

The fact that I am writing about it now, indicates that I still remember some of those images vividly. They have become part of my permanent memory, though I wont now narrate them to others as part of my real childhood stories, but they have become inseparable part of my childhood memories and experiences. That tender confusing phase of my childhood coincided with one of the most challenging phases of my immediate and extended family. I am sure the grownups in my family had no such confusion running in their heads, though they might have taken their own time and chosen their own path, to accept the unbelievable reality – sudden loss of a dear family member at a very young age. 

One can imagine how excited a child would be to hear the word “train”. I was too, but the fact that I always used to hear it in the same sentence with the word “accident”, made me sense the sadness in the air. In addition, faces I used to see everyday at home hardly appeared among the photographs on the wall. They were mostly of only those persons whom I never encountered at home. Fortunately, elders have a way of letting kids know of the stuff they are supposed to know and make them oblivious of those they think they aren’t supposed to know. Often I was asked to identify the man in those photographs, whom I have learnt to address as “Daddy”. 

With time, I have picked some facts, stories, interests and other stuff about The Man. I used to spend most of my time at home in the very room and house he used to spend. Though certain things were kept hidden intentionally – a video in which he appeared, his clothes and other belongings – not everything which ever belonged to him could be kept away from me. Once a person moves on from this world, some of his or her belongings fade away quickly than others. Some things we try to preserve and hence stay for a long time, but eventually they too disappear. Nevertheless, those things would become part of the memories left behind by that person. But in my case, I have no real memories with him, for my journey with him had begun long after he was gone. And so I was literally left with his ‘left overs’ at home – things he left behind which have not yet faded or depreciated by then. 

Give a child valuable articles worthy of display in a museum, they would just be mere toys and he or she will happily play with them. I was doing the same with the ‘left overs’ too and never realized back then how much impact they would be having on me and my personality. The fact that I am writing about it after three decades says it all. This connection between these two disjointed worlds – one a child’s world which was trying to make sense of so much beyond its capability and two what was once a man’s world, now left behind as he moved on from there – began in a small room fondly called as “balcony” by the family, for it must have been a balcony overseeing the road below before it was  turned into a small room for my parents. 

That balcony room had become my go-to place. It was like a debriefing room where in I would think, analyze and make sense of what used to happen outside it. It was where I used to connect some dots let lose by elders at home. It was where clarity and confusion would debrief each other and it was also where the lines between dream and reality were blurred. One such blurry picture deeply imprinted in my mind was an instance where I was walking behind my mom in that small balcony room and I could sense someone in waiting in the corner of the room. My mom walked past them as if there was no one. I dared to turn and was shocked to find the Man in the photo on the wall sitting on his knees in the corner of the room, gesturing me to approach him and I was petrified and did not dare to move an inch. 

First time every drew something from imagination .. pls bear :)

Other such real-like-dreamy images included the instances where I kissed him goodbye before he left home on his last successful journey and the one where he had come to pick me up from school. The former would or wouldn’t have happened but the latter definitely did not happen. Amidst this confusion, the tangible left-overs are  the ones which grounded me. His abode – the balcony room – was like a clueless treasure hunt arena for me. The more I dug the more I found – both his self and my self. The morning sun light used to brighten up the little room so much that it used to overflow from its windows as if the room itself was the source of light and not the sun. In that brightness a dancing doll (butta bomma) which was an assembly of loose parts each of them on the verge of falling apart but would never miss a beat to little nudges we used to give with our fingers. 

How much ever small a room might be, a small dedicated work space say a table would detach the mind from its noisy surroundings ensuring complete concentration if the sitter at the table wished for. His table with a lamp on it, two draws – one of them always locked, a round iron stool with loosened broken wiring, with some books on it – was an adventure land I used to find myself lost in. Things behind locked doors excites us a lot, more so for children. When I developed the intelligence to find the key, open it secretly to see what’s inside, my child self was super excited to see packs of pencils and erasers. That was the first and last time in my childhood, to have seen a full pack of pencils and erasers being brought home. Clearly, the way he planned for his school going kids – my brothers – was not the same as was planned by others for me. Though that left a vacuum in me, never uttered a word about it for want of right language, right time and right people and cause of a deep determination within me to never ever start expressing a feeling starting with the phrase – “had he been there….”.

Rarely it so used to happen that I hit the sack and I fall asleep immediately. During those lonely musing times in between wakefulness and sleep, my eyes always used to fall on a lovely lantern with a bed lamp inside. A greenish tinged light used to brilliantly find its way out of a meshy surface. The lantern’s handle otherwise used to hold it by hand, was hung on to the ceiling, as if an invisible hand was showering the dimmed light onto the sleepers. Another such thing which used to evoke musings in my child-self was a sunset silhouette painting - with bright reds and yellows, water, a tree, a boat, a man on it - which I found has become a commonplace over the years. 

As I tickle my memory I recall many such objects – the left overs, which have left a deep mark on my consciousness. Non academic books like a dictionary, a book on short hand, a writing plank; an old camera with a nice leather cover, wall full of photographs – not just any but his own photos with special effects like multiple pictures in one, he shaking hands with his own self (imagine this was in 70s and 80s); well carved wooden items including a pencil box, a jewelry box which are still widely available in Telugu states’ government emporiums; a zipper file to safely store documents; a guitar etc. These are only a few of the things I could recall. 

Among them all, one that had left much deeper an impact was his interest in movies and the medium through which they can reach people. He made that his livelihood (A shop to rent video cassettes and equipment to people) and had left behind tons of video cassettes – the good old magnetic tapes, if you know, those black ones with two white tape guides and a title label stuck on one of its sides. They were all full of movies, video songs etc. Not that I watched and enjoyed all of them but it did introduce me to the world of art, music, movie and much more. Movies – with their varied characters, stories, insightful dialogues, impactful song lyrics – have taught me life lessons. His collection of Charlie Chaplin and Laurel and Hardy from the silent film era left some dots loose which I have been connecting over years. Probably because of this early establishment of my connection with the movie world, it still remains special to me. I don’t just watch them but analyze, criticize, imbibe and inculcate. 

Now when I think about these thoughts over and over again, I see how those tangible left overs in combination with all the anecdotes I used to gather about him in my childhood, have left some deep marks. Many of my interests emanate from there, if not all. Though I am not wholly a product of them, a piece of them definitely exists in me. Just like we are what we think, we are also what we see and get inspired.  If not for those left-overs, what would have been my story? A non-existent person would have not existed for me. But with the left overs bequeathed to me, I was able to draw my own memories and inspiration, and was able to establish a connect between two different worlds. This was all probably a child’s way of dealing with the loss and fill the vacuum left behind, but I can confirm that it was a successful one. Had he been there, would the bequeath be any different from what I now imagine it to be? Probably. Who knows.