Of priceless family heirlooms, timeless memories
I OPENED A DRAWER OF THE SANDOOK AND WAS PLEASANTLY SURPRISED TO FIND OLD LETTERS THAT HAD BEEN KEPT IN IT AND FORGOTTEN
Years ago, my family decided to sell off the ancestral house in our native village. The house was a prized possession but the maintenance and renovation of the palatial structure made us take the tough decision. Among the articles and pieces of furniture that had to be moved to the city house was the magnificent wooden sandook (trunk or chest) that once belonged to Maanji, my grandmother.
The day the sandook was brought to the city, I stood next to it, admiring the fine craftsmanship of the olden days. Intricately carved, the six-foot high piece had always enamoured me with its mystique and charm. The worth of a family heirloom is much more than an antique appraiser can estimate. One should feel fortunate to inherit pieces of ancestors’ past and must unearth the stories behind these family treasures.
A part of Maanji’s dowry, it once occupied the pride of place in a room on the ground floor of the house and was the perfect storage solution for the family linen and brassware. Once or twice a year, Maanji would indulge in a thorough clean up of the sandook and the sunning of the myriad items it stored.
In addition to her retinue of regular maids Seebo, Gullo and Sunita, another trusted and dexterous help named Sehno would be pressed into service for the day-long task. Out would come durees in striking hues, bearing testimony to the artistic flair and perseverance of the women of the family who had woven them.
Also prominent among the items stored in the sandook were the baagh phulkaris, embroidered together by my mother’s maternal and paternal grandmothers, and placed in her trousseau trunk that was the Punjabi equivalent of a ‘hope chest’!
Brass utensils with the names of family elders inscribed on them would be washed in kachi lassi and left to dry under the sun. Excited about the flurry of activity, my cousins and I would run amok all over the place, earning the title of ‘ijjar’ and ‘vagg’ from our Maanji which are Punjabi terms for a group of animals!
Fondly recalling these memories, I opened a drawer of the sandook and was pleasantly surprised to find old letters that had been kept in it and forgotten. Till date, the sandook continues looking glorious and being functional. Looking around my parents’ house, I see various other priceless heirlooms from the antique pieces of furniture, papier mache decor pieces and trinket boxes bought in Kashmir.
A hot favourite of mine is a coin box that belonged to my late father. At a tender age, he had set out on an exploration of the world, collecting coins from every country he visited. In my childhood, if I ever found his closet ajar, I would reach out for this box and go through its contents. These coins document his travels as vividly as his numerous photographs do and narrate a tale of a struggle in his early years along with his quest to carve out a niche for himself.
A few years ago, before any of my siblings could stake a claim on the coin box, I acquired its possession from my mother. I wish to preserve it and eventually pass it on to the next generation, but not before I have shared its story with them.