The sight and smell of metal tins with fresh paint of light lavender color and lady finger print marks take me back to the days when I was experiencing severe morning sickness.
A melody of 80s, especially if it is Ilayaraja’s, instantly transports me to Chennai’s sunrise on the beach.
My sketch pad filled with colors and ‘tried out’ portraits makes me a small girl again. Like a movie I clearly see the images of an enthusiastic child with her father. Both spend time selecting the best crayons available in Perumal Chetty stationery shop. When they come out they have bright smile on their faces as if they own the world.
The old book rack that takes a place of pride in the house brings back the memories of my mother sitting in our car garage and instructing carpenters. As I touch the rack, I still feel her supervising eyes on the workers.
Any luxury car I see today has my sweet younger brother next to the driver’s seat, enjoying his ride.
The list is unending; my mother’s tasty kheema balls curry, my father’s hands touching the books delicately, my younger brother being my shadow, my elder brother buying us softy ice creams, I can go on and on like this.
Memories are the fresh thoughts about yesteryears.