MANASVI SHARMA BAWA

As I was doing some spring cleaning I found this little purse my mother gave me when I got married. Ever since I can remember I had eyed this pretty little thing mumma kept in her vanity. Knowing me I had called dibs on it even though I was never a handbag girl but it was just too pretty.

Little did I realise that there was a story behind it, memories.

I rang my mother in the early hours this morning to understand the story behind this family heirloom. After our initial morning chit chatter I popped the golden nugget in front of the camera and I saw her face suddenly brighten up, a sudden flash of memories from the past flashed across her eyes and through my very pixelated Whatsapp video call.

Mothership had always mentioned that this bag was a gift to her but I wasn’t clear on the story. So here goes…

My maternal grandfather on one of his work travels to Russia sometime in the 1970’s had a layover in Kabul, Afghanistan. A man of exceptional taste by what I am told and can see in the few heirlooms I have spotted this beautiful golden purse.

You see, Nana ji wanted his baby girl to have the best always, a true reflection of a fathers love for his daughter. Amongst other things, he brought home the purse from his travels.

My mother was all of 12 or 13 at the time but Nana ji (grandfather) decided to buy it as a gift for mothership on her wedding day (whenever that would have been). Destiny had other things planned, he passed away when mothership was 17 but my grandmother kept this beauty safely and gifted it to mumma as part of her trousseau.

Fast forward 30 years, I got the bag as a part of my trousseau. Something that my grandfather whom I never met bought in Kabul in the 70’s landed up with me.

As I sit and reflect on this realisation I cannot stop looking at this little purse in wonder. Packed in it are so many memories. I cannot even fathom…

Oh wouldn’t it be lovely to talk to Nana ji and understand what made him buy this bag and how were his travels? Did he enjoy them and collecting these little memory capsules on the way? Could he imagine mum as a bride and did his heart swell in love and pride at the thought?

Or how was it for my Nani who finally gifted this purse to mum? Was she filled with melancholy for what both the grandparents had imagined for their baby girl together? Did her eyes swell with tears on the side, the lady who everyone thought was iron clad?

I am very lucky to have the insight into my mother’s thoughts whatever she chooses to share and I can safely say the love shines through and the memories are still very very fresh.

As for this beautiful purse bought in the far off lands of Kabul almost 50 years ago by a loving father for his daughter, it has stood the test of time. A testament to the artwork of the artisan who created it and the care my grandmother and mother took of it over the years.

A hand woven memory that today I am the safe keeper of.

I promise to keep it safe, Ma. And flaunt it a bit too as Nana ji would have imagined while buying it.

It’s true, they don’t make things the same way as they did long ago. They carry not just material things but…

Memories.

Until next time.

Stay tangled. xx