"What should we do if we lose a book?"

I have often felt that my mother would have been a writer if she was born  20 years later. She was born to parents, who belonged to the Jane Austen era. People who believe their daughters are lucky if they find a prospective husband. My mother was definitely lucky.

Though her world is very small, and one can count the number of times she left the village kartikulam, one would be amazed at the number of incidents she tells me every day. She is the kind of housewife, who never has time to rest. She would be working the full day. It doesn't matter to her whether a day is 24 hours or 10 hours. She doesn't bother how much work is done.  She just has to work the full day to be satisfied. But despite that fact, she often complains that she doesn’t get any “me time” to play sudoku that appears in the Mathrubhumi, that my father brings for her from our appachi’s house. ( We subscribe Malayala Manorama which doesn't have a sudoku).

One day after returning from a library in our village, she told me about an incident. While she was sitting in the library trying to choose a “good book”, a girl about 13 or 14 came to the library to return a book that she had borrowed. On seeing her, the librarian  Sobhaechi enquired where her younger brother is. The girl immediately said he is at home. The Librarian told her that her brother had borrowed a book and it is been more than two weeks and asked her if she knew whether he finished reading the book. The girl responded with a loud and clear “ I don't know”. The librarian then asked her if she knew when the boy will return the book. She again repeated the same words. “ I don't know”. The librarian did not ask anything more.

The girl went through the shelves and took another book and gave it to the librarian for entering into the register. While she was waiting, she asked: “Sobaechi, what should we do if we lose a book?”. Sobaechi smiled and said, “you just have to tell me and then pay the fine.”

My mother concluded with a sigh. We often do not have the courage to say the truth.  Then how can we expect the kids to?.

The tattered pages of the album

On one particular evening, when there is plenty of work pending, but your mind is craving to do things that are not at all a priority, is when I opened the folder “photos”. This folder is where every photo that has ever been clicked, is saved and never opened again. It is said that photos bring back memories. Yeah, but each folder contains a minimum of 2000 pictures. Instead of bringing back memories, I was wondering, when did this happen? On which day was this one clicked, OMG! Did I actually click a photo with this weirdo?. And in some cases who is this?. What was his\her name?.

30 minutes of brainstorming might have passed, when my mother joined me. She was not interested in the pictures I had in my laptop. She came with the hard binded album that smelled too old with memories. She placed it on her lap, and started turning the delicate pages one by one. The photos had faded, but not her memories. Even now she clearly remembers each of those moments as if it happened yesterday. Each photo had a story associated with it. It can be about people in the picture or the frock that she was wearing, or it can even be about the tree that was in the background or a cat on that tree. As she turns each page with utmost care, even though I am hearing the same stories for the umpteenth time, I listen to them with great joy. Sometimes I even point out things that she miss.

This is when I realised our smartphones and DSLR can only click beautiful photographs, but only our hearts can click beautiful moments.