Friday, September 1, 2023
Old Photographs
Old photographs. They are not black and white any more. They are gray and white. I can peer into the faces of my grandfather, my mother and father young and glamorous, smiling with friends. Processions of Buddhist monks. Words in Vietnamese. Banners held by monks containing words in Vietnamese.
My grandfather's picture so dignified-my grandfather who sent myself and my brother a book of malayalam alphabets when we were in Rasayani. My grandfather who held my hand and walked with me to the St Mary's Thycattu mathavus kappela or chappel and when someone asked who is this he said, Joseph's daughter.
I remembered that many many years later. It was a spontaneous memory. Nobody asked me any question. I just told my kids what my grandfather told his friend.
Walking through the scrapbooking aisles of hobby lobby the colorful papers the stickers the decorative things and the albums under the banner project life. When I saw the project life albums and scrapbooking supplies I thought of my parents waiting for me in India. Longing to see me. Eager to see my face. Desperate to hear my voice.
All these ladies are making albums of their parents and grandparents.
I wanted to do the same. When I came from India in 2011 I brought a few old photos of my parents travels.
My parents said take this, take that.
But I only brought the photos.
I will get to go there again, I will make albums of these photos.
Project life spoke into this wish to do this for my parents.
But I did not buy the album. I did not make the album.
Later the project life banner went away from hobby lobby.
I should be going to see them. I have to see them.
Anything my parents have touched, which has their finger prints is super valuable to me.
I was arranging Christmas decorations in the basement of my house. I found a pillow cover. It was satin and yellow and embroidered with flowers. My mother's sister sister winnox Mary gave it to my mother when we were young. She brought it for me to the US.
I had not kept it safe but suddenly came across it. It was languishing in the basement at the bottom of a sterilite box. I have done this with other things that my parents gave me. A maroon bag with black dots. It was very cute. I hung it in our kitchen to store grocery bags. An old friend of my father who owned a newspaper, somehow my father wanted me to write an article for that paper. I dawdled so much with that article with my father calling me every week and asking if I had the article and me saying no. I had no time to write an article for my father's friends newspaper.
What were my mother's thoughts when she folded it and put it in her bag to bring it all the way from India to the United States. We can buy pillow cases in the US too, can we not.
What were my father's thoughts when he called me sometimes at 2 am and said Jenny mol Pappa just wanted to hear your voice. My Pappa called me all the way from kochi not thinking about what time it was. My Pappa only wanted to hear my voice.
Maybe it was a lifestyle like we are always in a race car. We don't really think deeply about things. We allow frenzy and the frenetic pace of life toengulf us and our viewpoints.
We are racing fast, faster we go. We have races with other race cars.
Today while driving back from work I noticed a wide expanse of sky and a large field of trees with no leaves. The dark grey brown curved branches was almost the same color and a grey sky that appeared to be not very distant from the branches. On the road the traffic moved steadily through the cold air.
I once read a story by a writer called Katherine Anne Porter. The story was about a character who always lost things valuable to her.
I don't want to lose anything valuable to me. From every advice given to me by my father, every earring and bangle given to me by my mother the old songs sung in church to old prayers said in homes to old everything is important to me.
I hope you have a lovely day!
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