TRAVEL
I spotted the pink teddy bear in the middle of my parents’ old storeroom. My five-year-old stared at the stuffed toy as I dusted it. “Isn’t it pretty? I used to play with it when I was your age.”
She looked at me and turned to the teddy bear, apparently thinking. “Yes, it is beautiful. But, it is no longer pink and smells of the storeroom.”
It did indeed smell of so many things: damp storerooms, the rainy streets of my hometown, Chennai, the sands of Marina Beach, the rickety staircase of the library I frequented, and even the crowded airport in which we landed yesterday.
The streets were even more crowded than I remembered. Autos sped past erratically as usual and responsible family men in two-wheelers drove slowly, obeying each traffic rule. We went to the plaza where we had bought the pink teddy bear more than two decades ago. The salesman looked almost hostile as my mom asked him to show some stainless steel plates stacked in the bottom. It was as if he did not care if he made a sale. I wondered what happened to the smiling, bantering salespeople in the plaza. I leaned over to take a look at the unsold dolls, which were probably stacked there for many months and wondered if any tiny hand would hold them.
Our next stop was a clothing store in which my daughter shook a child mannequin’s hand and tried to talk to him. My mom limped behind her as they played hide and seek. My mom’s energetic countenance decades ago was replaced by the slow pace of old age. However, there were pride, patience, and happiness on her face. Perhaps it was the joy of having relinquished responsibility.
After my companions had gone home, I walked through the narrow lanes towards the old library, taking in the aroma of spicy samosas, cheesy pizzas, and hot ginger tea in a small food stall.
The librarian looked at me, adjusting his glasses. “Yes, ma’am?”
This was the same man who used to call me, “Hey, kid.” I asked him if I could take the stairs to check out the books on the first floor.
“I am sorry, ma’am. We no longer own the place above. It has been taken over by a photo studio.”
Disappointed, I held the handrails to my lost dream world as I looked around at the new buildings, malls, and movie theatres.
I boarded the flight back to my adopted country the following night, holding the pink teddy bear as my daughter looked at me weirdly. She was wrapped in the only blanket I had brought while I shivered in my seat. As the stewardess did not have spare blankets, I hugged my teddy bear for comfort. Despite the cold, I slept a couple of hours. After all, I was enveloped in the warmth of my childhood.
She looked at me and turned to the teddy bear, apparently thinking. “Yes, it is beautiful. But, it is no longer pink and smells of the storeroom.”
It did indeed smell of so many things: damp storerooms, the rainy streets of my hometown, Chennai, the sands of Marina Beach, the rickety staircase of the library I frequented, and even the crowded airport in which we landed yesterday.
The streets were even more crowded than I remembered. Autos sped past erratically as usual and responsible family men in two-wheelers drove slowly, obeying each traffic rule. We went to the plaza where we had bought the pink teddy bear more than two decades ago. The salesman looked almost hostile as my mom asked him to show some stainless steel plates stacked in the bottom. It was as if he did not care if he made a sale. I wondered what happened to the smiling, bantering salespeople in the plaza. I leaned over to take a look at the unsold dolls, which were probably stacked there for many months and wondered if any tiny hand would hold them.
Our next stop was a clothing store in which my daughter shook a child mannequin’s hand and tried to talk to him. My mom limped behind her as they played hide and seek. My mom’s energetic countenance decades ago was replaced by the slow pace of old age. However, there were pride, patience, and happiness on her face. Perhaps it was the joy of having relinquished responsibility.
After my companions had gone home, I walked through the narrow lanes towards the old library, taking in the aroma of spicy samosas, cheesy pizzas, and hot ginger tea in a small food stall.
The librarian looked at me, adjusting his glasses. “Yes, ma’am?”
This was the same man who used to call me, “Hey, kid.” I asked him if I could take the stairs to check out the books on the first floor.
“I am sorry, ma’am. We no longer own the place above. It has been taken over by a photo studio.”
Disappointed, I held the handrails to my lost dream world as I looked around at the new buildings, malls, and movie theatres.
I boarded the flight back to my adopted country the following night, holding the pink teddy bear as my daughter looked at me weirdly. She was wrapped in the only blanket I had brought while I shivered in my seat. As the stewardess did not have spare blankets, I hugged my teddy bear for comfort. Despite the cold, I slept a couple of hours. After all, I was enveloped in the warmth of my childhood.
