-Written By Aditi Goswami
(Reading Time: 6 min Approx)
There was undiminished energy among all the grand-kids of the Mukherjee household, as is expected from the kids of that age group. They were a close-knit bunch of six boys and girls. The eldest of them Minie, was about 12, who led the group in their numerous mischievous activities. It ranged from cooking without fire, in their rear garden, to plucking luscious mangoes from their neighbour’s tree that invitingly hung on to their side of the boundary wall, to running errands for their parents. They loved ferrying a bowl of fish curry to their neighbour’s house as the lady of that house always gave them sherbet, and a few imported candies.
Much as they were naughty, they also had a curiosity that almost (proverbially) killed the cat. Their combined curiosity was about the big wooden box sitting pretty, under their grandfather’s walnut colour four-poster bed. That box was never moved, never opened, and no one had ever seen it open or had the faintest idea of what the contents were. The kids, and also the elders, had often speculated about the hidden treasures in that box, almost every day. All they ever saw was the big lock that guarded the big box.
Come festivals, birthdays, or anniversaries, Grandpa would bolt the door of his room from the inside, take about 15-20 minutes, and emerge holding a gift for the family member(s). The key to the box, always safe with him – inaccessible to the rest. While the young ones got fancy stationery or a notepad, the elders often got an envelope with some crisp notes in it, dolloped with his blessings for good health and prosperity. They all were sure it’s the box that their gift came from.
Whenever Grandpa left home, the keys to the mystery box went with him. There was no way he would ever leave the keys behind, because the key was tied to his sacred thread that he wore across his chest, always.
During many a story telling session, the kids tried to get Grandpa to divulge what’s inside the box. But Grandpa was a wise old man. He would leave it at, “When I am in the clouds, you will know.”
Once, a severe financial crisis hit the Mukherjee household. The lady of the house requested Grandpa, her father-in-law, to bail them out. She pleaded, “We will return what we take. Please lend us some money. What good is all that money if it rots in your box. You know we are in trouble.”
But Grandpa was unmoved. He sat still, head down looking at his feet that had bunions and calluses galore. Angry, hurt and let down, Mrs. Mukherjee left his room, muttering to herself.
Grandpa was no more by the fall of 2010.
After the mourning, the kids got restless again. They coaxed their leader Minie to find the keys and open the box. She decided not to disappoint her siblings and cousins and to find the answer to their curiosity once and for all. She did what Grandpa always did. Took the keys, that were still tied to his sacred thread, but now folded and kept in front of his flower-adorned framed portrait. She bolted the door from the inside, and with trembling hands opened the mystery box.
Six pairs of twinkling eyes, found lying on the bed of the box a small picture of their Grandma, and nothing else.
-Written By Aditi Goswami
The story reminded me of my childhood days when we used to play like this creatively My father always used to have a box in which he used to keep betelnuts and Paan. It was a tradition, passed on from his grandfather to him. There used to be nothing significant just betelnets Paan and some coins but they would treasure it like anything. The above story made me emotional and reminded me of my father. Well written. Nowadays kids are glued to their mobiles.
Warm Regards
Suresh Iyer