Once in two neat columns it tried to arrange my life.
On the left – Names.
On the right – Numbers
And in between scribbled letters which were meant to be addresses.
A shade of brightest blue,
A laminated cover on which still were written
In my signature ‘Vines and Strokes’ writing
Three harmless words-
My Telephone Diary.
How every new name and number brought thrill,
of growing popularity.....fun .......and much more.....
To ring up and speak in an unsure voice to some strict uncle...
or, at times, to ‘ Living -Questionnaires’. .....
Gave us reason to sulk.....and laugh......and complain....sometimes.
And as familiarity emerged at the other end in another overjoyed tone
of an eleven year old.....
Peace prevailed....time flew....innocence giggled in hushed tones.
At times when school was either lost in the heat of May
or drowned in festive drum-beats of para-pujos.
We shared life back then.
In small sachets of secret jokes and harmless jabs...
......conveyed in codes of 1s and 0s....over distances
which sounded unending and places obscure.
Now.....lost in the race to nowhere...
We have lost touch.
Love ?
I hope to believe not.
My diary doesn’t look its self now...
Tattered at places...
Torn into pieces
It looks at me with studied anticipation
And a knowing acceptance.
Giving the smudged letters a final glance I put it back...
to where it belongs now..
- The back drawers of my old, wooden closet.
Along with my nursery rhymes and frayed pencils and crayons
It will have good company there.
So I hope to believe.
The faded blue of it reminds me of a childhood-
Now I choose to make a relic.
Only an occasional reminder of
Who I am.
It serves its purpose every few years..
while the entire house gets cleaned...or painted.
Memories pound my veins now...
And as I push in the dreary drawer..
With a defeated sigh My Telephone Diary bids goodbye..
to things it meant to me ....once.
Who remembers these days ?
I move onto the next drawer.
