After my grandmother's funeral, which I did not attend, my father called me from Kerala and asked me what I wanted from the ancestral house in memory of my grandma. I guess he knew I wouldn't be returning to my ancestral house any time soon, because I couldn't imagine that house without my grandma. He was right. I returned to the house after 18 years for my dad's funeral.
I remember asking my dad for 3 articles. Each of those were easily any where between 100-300 years old.
I love collecting antiques -not for their so-called "antique" value but because they have stories to tell - stories of a bygone era. It's like holding a piece of history in your hands.
When I sit on the 100 year old planters chair in my house I can literally feel myself transported to that era. It is wonderful (and makes you a little kooky in the head, but who cares :)
Just to think that these were made, used and loved by many souls many, many years ago and that they have been witnesses' to individual histories -fascinates me.
It is as if each of these so-called inanimate objects are so full of life. An endearing contradiction indeed.
These objects are filled to the brim with stories of lives and of a time bygone.
They are testimonies to the fact that life goes on -nothing ends. That's why I abhor funerals -because there is something falsely definitive about those goodbyes.
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