The Almirah

Maa’s almirah has a magical hold over me. Since the time, I could differentiate between a chair and a sofa, a chance glimpse inside that storage space was enough to sweeten the day for me.

 

The sentiment hasn’t changed much over the decades, despite the almirah shape shifting a couple of times. As a child, every saree, each piece of jewellery, a random letter, or that yellowing picture, was like a revelation, better still, a discovery that promised to explain the mysteries of adulthood. The almirah, like rest of the ‘grown-up’ world was out of bounds for us, the sisters. As the more curious one, who had a propensity for flouting rules and getting into trouble (still do), I tried all the tricks a 4-year-old could conjure to open the locked doors. And one day! My efforts came to fruition.

 

The enchanting realm was thrown wide open. The silks and handlooms and the functional chiffons, all neatly arranged, akin to Maa’s general disposition. We were a middle-class household, still am. That too, one in a far-flung corner of the country. Fancy and expensive labels were a rarity. Yet my parents mastered the art of cherishing and preserving simple and aesthetic objects, be it the china tea set with Kashmiri motifs or the white chiffon saree with mauve flowers. As I revisit those memories while penning this, I am transported to an idyllic world. Who says utopia is a lie?

 

They say, episodic memories are autobiographical memories of specific past events. These are the memories that brain creates by integrating smell with information of space and time. Mine triggers the famous, ‘Proust Effect’ too. Certain fragrances, smells, however faint they may be, carry me to the times I spent secretly admiring Maa’s penchant for tucking natural fresheners between the layers of clothes or inside the locker. Edgy camphor, proud rose, tangy citronella, non-nonsense neem, the odd bay leaf, speck of sandalwood powder, adorned Maa’s almirah long before potpourri started trending. The combination of natural essence with the innate smell of zari threads, silk and linen fashioned an odd kind of assurance that would soothe an otherwise effervescent me.

 

I would not know if anyone who is reading this shares this sentiment or has a similar memory. Yet I am sure there must be those sights and smells that trigger time travel to your favourite season, a special holiday or a birthday. Those that reconnect us to the familiarity we shared with our parents and grand-parents and lost it along with our childhood.

 

Today, Maa is no more young and needs breaks to ease the nagging back pain as she tidies her near perfect almirah. I gaze spellbound yet again.